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THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 


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THE    FLY 
ON    THE    WHEEL 


By 
KATHERINE  CECIL  THURSTON 

Author  of  "The  Masquerader," 
"The  Gambler,"  "The  Circle,"  etc. 


NEW    YORK 

DODD,     MEAD    AND    COMPANY 

1908 


Copyright,  1907,  1908 
By  KATHERINE  CECIL  THURSTON 

Published,  September,  1908 


TO 

NANCE 


2138616 


CHAPTER  I 

It  was  an  April  morning  in  the  Irish  town  of  Water- 
ford;  beyond  the  suburbs,  the  grass  lay  thick  and 
green  upon  the  country-side  in  the  virgin  freshness  of 
the  spring,  and  the  chestnuts  glinted  with  the  delicate 
sheen  of  bursting  leaves ;  but  in  the  streets  the  dust  of 
March  was  whirling  to  the  April  breeze,  powdering  the 
narrow  byways  with  a  cloak  of  grey,  eddying  in  a  mad 
dance  along  the  open  spaces. 

Portion  of  this  dusty,  characteristic,  sparsely  popu- 
lated town  is  dedicated  to  business — the  business  of  the 
shops ;  a  second  and  more  important  portion  of  it  is 
given  over  to  the  quays,  from  whence  a  constant  traffic 
is  carried  on  with  the  hereditary  enemy,  Engand; 
while  a  third  part,  that  holds  itself  aloof  from  com- 
merce, is  to  be  reckoned  as  half  residential,  half  pro- 
fessional. It  is  to  this  third  quarter  that  the  eye  of 
the  story-seeker  must  turn  on  this  April  morning; 
for  it  is  here,  in  Lady  Lane, — a  thoroughfare  as  long 
and  narrow  as  a  Continental  street,  composed  of  tall 
old  houses  with  square-paned  windows  and  mysterious 
hall  doors  giving  entry  to  vast  and  rambling  interiors 
— that  the  story,  comedy  or  tragedy,  is  to  find  its 
stage;  here,  in  the  dining-room  of  one  of  the  flat- 
fronted  houses,  that  the  student  of  human  nature  is  to 


2  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

take  his  first  glance  at  Stephen  Carey — hero,  so  far 
as  middle-class  Irish  life  produces  heroes,  of  the  antici- 
pated romance. 

A  man's  room,  one  would  have  said  at  half  a  glance, 
— moreover,  the  room  of  a  man  self-made !  There  was 
no  art,  no  beauty  suggested  or  displayed;  but  there 
was  comfort  of  a  solid  kind  in  the  fire  that  burned 
ruddily  in  the  grate,  and  in  the  breakfast-table  that 
stood  awaiting  occupation.  A  man's  room,  although  a 
closed  work-basket  stood  on  the  sideboard,  and  the 
china  on  the  table  indicated  breakfast  for  two. 

And  this  first  impression  would  have  proved  correct ; 
for  if  the  title  of  man  be  won  by  work,  by  patience,  by 
a  spirit  that  holds  firm  in  face  of  great  odds,  then 
Carey's  room  was  unquestionably  the  property  of  a 
man ;  for  he  had  carved  his  own  path  to  worldly  suc- 
cess, hewing  it  from  the  rough  material  by  days  of 
toil  and  nights  of  thought., 

Carey  was  a  type, — a  type  of  that  middle  class  which 
by  right  of  strength  has  formed  its  huge  republic, 
and  spread  like  a  net  over  civilisation — invincible,  in- 
dispensable as  the  vast  machines  from  which  it  has 
sucked  its  power.  It  is  as  parent  of  this  new  republic 
that  the  nineteenth  century  will  go  down  to  futurity ; 
and  it  is  from  the  core  of  this  new  republic,  virile  in 
its  ambition,  tyrannical  in  its  moral  code,  jealous  of 
its  hard-won  supremacy,  that  we  have  garnered  such 
men  as  Carey — the  men  of  steel,  drawn  from  the  great 
workshops,  tempered,  filed,  polished  to  fit  the  appointed 
place;  helping  to  move  the  mighty  engine  of  which 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  3 

they  are  the  atoms,  useless  if  cast  out  from  its  mechan- 
ism. 

There  is  no  corner  of  the  civilised  world  over  which 
the  ubiquitous  army  of  this  republic  has  not  marched. 
Even  in  countries  where  advance  is  slowest  and  change 
most  subtle  in  its  inroads — even  in  Ireland,  where  the 
people  still  instinctively  bend  the  knee  to  the  fetish 
of  old  name,  and  the  aristocrats,  dwindling  year  by 
year,  hug  their  pride  the  closer  for  decay — this  in- 
vasion of  the  middle  classes  has  become  a  fact  raised 
above  denial.  A  century  ago  the  rich  Irish  trader, 
the  manufacturer,  even  the  lawyer  or  the  doctor — un- 
less by  chance  he  could  produce  a  pedigree — held 
little  place  in  the  social  scheme ;  but  to-day  his  grand- 
daughters flaunt  it  with  the  best  in  the  world  of  sport 
and  the  vaster  world  of  education.  True,  the  entry 
to  these  new  pastures  is  through  a  gate  that  still  stands 
barely  ajar  and  hangs  upon  rusty  hinges,  but  there 
is  incentive  in  the  thought  of  a  forced  passage,  and 
the  constant  sight  of  a  social  Mecca  stirs  this  section 
of  a  naturally  indolent  community  to  unprecedented 
action.  For  this,  the  well-to-do  shopkeeper  gives  his 
son  a  profession ;  for  this,  the  successful  doctor  sends 
his  boys  to  an  English  university ;  for  this,  the  mother 
of  a  large  family  stints  and  saves  to  educate  her 
daughters  abroad. 

It  is  not  an  exalted  class :  it  is  a  class  held  together 
by  material  ambitions  and  common  ideals ;  but  it  is 
a  section  of  society  strong  in  its  own  narrow  purpose 
— an  outpost  in  the  great  progress. 


4  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

From  this  class  Stephen  Carey  had  come,  as  the  new, 
strong  grass  shoots  up  between  the  cobble-stones  of  an 
ancient  street.  His  story  was  that  of  many  another 
Irishman — the  story  of  a  boyhood  bred  upon  false  con- 
ceptions, and  a  youth  called  upon  before  its  time  to 
grapple  with  realities.  The  eldest  of  seven  brothers, 
he  was  the  son  of  a  builder,  a  man  of  dogged,  taciturn 
nature  who  had  risen  from  obscurity  to  a  position  of 
consideration.  Forty  years  ago,  Bamy  Carey  had 
been  a  well-known  figure  in  Waterford  commercial 
life,  and  there  were  few  of  the  older  business  men  who 
could  not  still  recall  his  large,  pale  face,  his  shock  of 
sandy  hair,  and  the  short,  thick-set  figure  invariably 
clothed  in  an  ill-fitting  frock-coat.  But  despite  the 
fact  of  a  large  acquaintance,  not  one  among  his  fel- 
low-townsmen could  recall  an  intimacy  with  Bamy ; 
there  had  been  something  daunting  in  the  man's  re- 
serve, something  deterring  in  his  proud,  silent  stub- 
bornness that  had  precluded  friendship ;  and  not  even 
the  workmen  by  whose  toil  he  had  mounted  the  ladder 
of  success,  or  the  sons  in  whom  the  core  of  his 
heart  centred,  had  known  what  it  was  to  hold  him  in 
affection. 

Yet  it  was  these  sons — these  seven  sons — on  whom 
his  whole  inarticulate  nature  had  bent  and  spent  it- 
self. There  are  always  these  chinks  in  the  hard  man's 
armour,  and  it  is  the  business  of  Fate  to  search  them 
out  with  cunning  shafts.  For  himself,  Barny  Carey 
had  made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  he  was  a  common 
man,  the  son  of  a  mason,  trained  in  his  youth  to  the 


THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  5 

mason's  trade ;  he  had  accepted  it  as  a  thing  defined, 
and  had  made  no  move  to  alter  or  ignore  it.  But  with 
his  sons  it  was  to  be  a  different  matter.  His  sons  were 
to  be  gentlemen ! 

This  was  his  dream — his  dream  as  he  had  worked  in 
his  office,  his  dream  as  he  had  watched  his  buildings 
rising  story  upon  story,  monuments  to  his  success. 
Stephen — Stephen,  the  first  bom — was  to  be  a  lawyer ; 
the  law  had  always  appealed  to  Barny  as  something 
impressive  and  formidable,  and  his  soul  yearned  to  see 
Stephen  deal  in  justice  as  he  himself  had  once  dabbled 
in  mortar  and  bricks ;  Joseph,  the  second  son,  was  to 
be  a  priest,  for  God  had  been  generous  to  him,  and  he 
must  not  grudge  his  offering  to  the  church ;  Tom,  the 
third,  was  to  be  an  architect ;  Barny,  his  namesake, 
was  to  be  a  civil  engineer;  Maurice  was  to  go  into  a 
bank,  and  Patrick  to  sea ;  while  for  Frank,  the  young- 
est, there  was  but  one  possible  career — being  a  seventh 
son,  he  must,  in  pursuance  of  time-honoured  supersti- 
tion, become  a  doctor.  So  he  had  lived  in  his  schemes, 
uncomprehended  and  unloved,  meting  out  education 
with  a  liberal  hand ;  and  in  due  time  Stephen  had  been 
articled  to  a  solicitor,  Joseph  had  been  sent  to  May- 
nooth,  and  Tom  had  gone  to  Dublin  to  study  for  his 
profession. 

Then  it  had  been,  in  the  very  weaving  of  the  plot, 
that  the  threads  had  tangled.  The  tale  of  how  a  busi- 
ness, apparently  impregnable,  can  be  undermined  by 
any  one  of  the  contingencies  that  arise  in  commerce 
is  too  long  and  too  immaterial  to  the  story  in  hand  to 


6  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

be  followed  here.  It  must  suffice  that  one  bad  year  had 
followed  another,  that  money  had  become  scarcer,  that 
Bamy  Carey  had  been  forced  to  draw  upon  his  re- 
serves. At  first  his  dogged  nature  had  refused  to  see 
facts  as  they  really  were ;  then  the  gravity  of  the 
situation  had  forced  itself  home,  and  common- 
sense  had  whispered  that  it  would  be  wiser  to  re- 
call Tom  and  put  new  blood  into  the  business;  but 
the  old  narrow  pride  that  had  become  as  the  breath  of 
Bamy's  life  had  risen  to  scout  the  suggestion — and  so 
had  come  the  beginning  of  the  end. 

Money  had  been  needed — and  still  more  money:  he 
might  have  borrowed,  for  his  credit  in  Waterford  was 
good,  but  here  again  the  stubbornness  had  been  tyran- 
nical. He  had  never  gone  into  debt,  and  he  would  not 
begin  in  his  old  age !  So  in  pride  and  silence  he  had 
taken  the  infinitely  more  risky  course — he  had  de- 
parted from  his  previous  scheme  of  safe  investment, 
and  had  begun  to  speculate. 

There  is  no  need  to  describe  the  first  plunge  and  the 
first  failure ;  the  second  plunge,  necessitated  by  the 
first,  and  in  turn  the  second  failure:  it  is  depressing 
in  its  commonness.  All  that  really  concerns  is 
that  within  two  years  Barny  Carey  died,  broken  by 
secret  anxieties;  and  that  Stephen,  just  crossing  the 
threshold  of  life,  woke  from  the  imaginary  position  of 
a  rich  man's  heir  to  the  reality  of  finding  himself 
guardian  to  six  brothers,  only  one  of  whom  was  self- 
supporting. 

What  Stephen  did  in  that  tremendous  crisis,  rather 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  7 

what  he  did  in  the  long  toilsome  years,  when  the  ac- 
tual crisis  was  passed  and  the  daily  burden  was  still 
to  be  carried,  is  among  the  unwritten  records  of  hero- 
ism. In  plain  words,  he  worked  as  men  only  work  in 
such  circumstances,  garnering  the  spoils  saved  from 
the  wreck  with  a  hand  almost  miserly  in  its  rigid 
severity,  stinting  himself  to  the  point  of  penury  that 
his  brothers  might  not  turn  back  from  their  allotted 
paths ;  and  in  his  own  career  struggling,  struggling 
unceasingly,  turning  an  impassive  face  to  the  slaps 
of  fortune,  grasping  unquestioningly  at  every  help- 
ing hand.  Until  now  the  story-seeker,  looking  into 
his  room  at  Lady  Lane,  finds  a  man  of  thirty-eight — 
a  citizen  with  a  wife  and  three  children — a  solicitor 
with  a  growing  practice — a  matured  controlled,  suc- 
cessful Stephen  Carey,  possessing  but  one  responsibil- 
ity remaining  from  the  past — Frank,  the  youngest 
brother,  the  seventh  son,  still  studying  medicine  in 
Paris  in  fulfilment  of  Barny  Carey's  dream. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  hour  of  nine  was  proclaimed  by  a  clock  some- 
where in  the  town ;  and  a  moment  after,  the  announce- 
ment was  made  further  patent  by  the  cessation  of  a 
dozen  mass  bells  that,  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  had 
been  chiming  from  north  and  south,  east  and  west. 
In  this  newly  made  silence  the  door  of  the  empty  din- 
ing-room in  Lady  Lane  opened  slowly,  to  admit  a  ser- 
vant carrying  a  tray  of  eatables  for  the  prospective 
breakfast.  She  entered  the  room  in  a  leisurely,  easy 
fashion,  moved  forward  to  the  table,  and,  still  holding 
the  tray,  allowed  her  eyes  to  wander  to  the  window 
and  become  riveted  upon  two  errand-boys,  who  had  de- 
liberately set  down  their  baskets  to  play  a  game  of 
marbles  in  the  narrow  roadway.  With  the  calm  ab- 
sorption of  the  bom  idler,  she  would  have  remained  in- 
definitely rooted  to  the  spot,  regardless  of  the  boiled 
eggs  and  bacon  that  were  fast  growing  cold,  but  that 
the  sound  of  steps  in  the  hall  outside  brought  her  forci- 
bly back  to  the  realisation  of  duty.  In  obvious  per- 
turbation she  twisted  round,  almost  overbalancing  the 
tray ;  then,  with  equal  suddenness,  she  gave  a  little 
gasp  of  relief. 

"Gracious,  ma'am,  I  thought  you  were  the  master!" 
she  explained.  "I  was  just  seein'  how  them  boys  of 
Clery's  do  be  idlin'  their  time.    'Tis  a  fright,  surely !" 

The  person  addressed  was  Mrs.   Stephen  Carey — 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  9 

Daisy  Carey, — blue-eyed,  fair-haired,  girlish  in  face 
and  figure,  despite  five  years  of  domesticity  and  the 
three  babies  in  the  nursery  upstairs.  She  was  attrac- 
tive, distinctly  attractive  as  she  stepped  into  the  room ; 
but  it  was  a  passive  attractiveness — the  sleek,  unin- 
spiring attractiveness  of  one  whose  days  are  full  of 
small  concerns,  and  who  is  obviously  content  to  shape 
the  future  on  the  pattern  of  the  past.  Moving  for- 
ward to  the  breakfast-table,  she  seated  herself  in  her 
accustomed  place,  and  picked  up  two  envelopes  that 
lay  upon  her  plate. 

"Are  these  all  the  letters,  Julia.'"'  she  asked.  "I 
thought  I'd  have  got  three." 

"Them  are  all  this  mornin',  ma'am, — except  the  mas- 
ter's.   I  took  him  up  seven  with  his  tea." 

"Oh,  well,  put  the  things  on  the  table !  And, 
Julia " 

"What,  ma'am.?" 

"See  that  nurse  gets  her  breakfast  soon,  will  you.'' 
Baby  cried  a  lot  last  night,  and  she  didn't  get  much 
sleep.     She  must  want  a  cup  of  tea." 

"All  right,  ma'am!  She  can  come  down  now;  I'll 
stop  above  with  the  children." 

"Oh,  will  you  ?  That  would  be  awfully  good  of  you ! 
Thanks  very  much!" 

"Not  at  all,  ma'am !  Why  wouldn't  I.?"  Julia  set 
down  the  breakfast  things,  paused  to  straighten  her 
cap,  which  always  drooped  a  little  to  one  side  or  the 
other,  and  departed,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

Left  to  herself,  Daisy  began  to  open  her  letters.  The 


10  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

action  was  not  very  enthusiastic,  for  she  knew  by  the 
envelopes  exactly  where  they  came  from,  and  could 
even  have  hazarded  a  very  shrewd  guess  as  to  what 
each  contained.  One  was  from  her  aunt,  the  Reverend 
Mother  of  a  convent  in  the  County  Clare ;  the  other 
was  a  bill  from  a  local  dressmaker.  She  opened  the 
former  first,  and,  propping  it  against  the  sugar-bowl, 
began  to  skim  the  thin  sheets  covered  with  close  writ- 
ing, while  she  mechanically  poured  herself  out  a  cup 
of  tea  and  took  an  egg  from  the  stand  in  the  middle 
of  the  table.  But  presently  her  attention  wandered, 
and  her  gaze,  as  Julia's  had  previously  done,  strayed 
to  the  window,  through  which  the  shrill  voices  of  the 
boys  came  raised  in  dispute  over  their  game.  She 
sat  for  a  minute  or  two  in  idle,  uninterested  contempla- 
tion ;  then,  as  in  the  servant's  case,  her  truant  wits 
were  recalled  by  the  sound  of  a  step,  and,  turning 
sharply  round,  she  bent  forward  in  a  listening  atti- 
tude. 

The  steps  drew  nearer,  and  with  the  confirmation  of 
their  sound  she  rose  from  her  seat,  moving  so  hastily 
that  the  nun's  letter  fluttered  down  from  its  upright 
position,  and  picking  up  a  cover-dish  that  stood  upon 
the  table,  carried  it  across  the  room  and  set  it  in  the 
fender. 

She  was  seated  again,  and  apparently  absorbed  in 
the  dressmaker's  bill,  when  the  door  opened  and  her 
husband  walked  into  the  room. 

There  was  nothing  dramatic  in  Stephen  Carey's  en- 
trance, nor  was  the  man  himself  arresting  by  right 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  11 

of  mere  personal  appearance.  In  figure  he  was  tall 
beyond  the  average,  but  lean  and  a  trifle  ungainly ; 
and  his  face — hard,  strong,  and  clean-shaven — was 
too  obviously  the  lawyer's  face  to  lend  itself  to  ex- 
pression ;  his  mouth  alone  of  all  the  features  gave 
promise  of  hidden  emotions  in  its  wide,  thin-lipped 
flexibility,  and  for  the  rest,  a  well-shaped  nose  that 
broadened  at  the  nostrils,  a  square  jaw,  and  a  crown 
of  rough  red  hair  made  up  a  rather  commonplace  ex- 
terior. Yet,  despite  the  lack  of  physical  attractions, 
the  man  was  a  personality.  You  felt  it  instantly  he 
came  into  a  room,  and,  moreover,  you  felt  that  others 
felt  it.  He  was  one  of  those  beings  to  whom  it  is 
given  to  claim  consideration  by  a  frown — service  by 
a  single  word.  As  he  came  forward  now,  carrying 
a  bundle  of  open  letters  in  his  hand,  his  wife  knew 
without  looking  up  that,  for  some  unknown  reason,  his; 
anger  had  been  roused ;  and  with  a  sense  of  uneasi- 
ness, her  mind  sped  over  the  possible  household  inci- 
dents that  might  have  annoyed  him.  The  baby's  crying- 
last  night !  Julia's  habitual  lateness  in  the  filling  of 
his  morning  bath  and  the  making  of  his  morning  tea  ? 
This  dread  of  having  displeased  him  was  subtly — 
most  subtly — indicative  of  Carey's  position  in  his  own 
house ;  for  though  he  rarely  lost  his  temper,  and  still 
more  rarely  gave  proof  of  its  loss,  the  whole  house- 
hold— from  Daisy  herself  to  the  little  four-year-old 
Ted,  just  beginning  to  form  conclusions  as  to  those 
about  him — each  and  all  were  imbued  with  the  dislike 
of  irritating  him. 


12  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Five  years  ago,  with  the  taking  of  this  high-ceiled, 
many-roomed  house,  Carey  had  faced  the  problem  of 
his  marriage, — for  in  middle-class  Ireland  the  choos- 
ing of  a  wife  follows  the  making  of  a  home  by  a  nat- 
ural sequence  of  events.  It  has  been  illustrated  that 
he  was  by  necessity  a  practical  man;  he  was  also  a 
man  self-satisfying,  and  to  a  great  extent  self-cen- 
tred; and  when  it  came  to  a  question  of  marriage,  it 
was  scarcely  to  be  expected  that  he  would  lose  his  heart 
or  even  his  head — though  neither  was  it  to  be  expected 
that  he  would  choose  carelessly.  His  idea  of  a  wife 
had  the  faint  savour  of  Orientalism  so  frequently  to 
be  found  in  his  country  and  his  class.  A  wife,  in  his 
opinion,  was  useful — possibly  attractive  as  well,  but 
fundamentally  useful ;  a  chattel,  a  being  to  be  clothed 
and  fed  and  housed  to  the  best  of  man's  ability,  but 
beyond  that  hardly  to  be  considered;  and  he  had 
looked  round  his  little  world  much  as  the  Eastern 
might  have  studied  the  slave-market. 

Age  and  ugliness,  even  when  compensated  for  by 
money,  he  had  dismissed  from  his  consideration  with 
the  contempt  of  his  race  for  physical  disability,  and 
when  at  last  his  eye  and  his  choice  had  fallen  upon 
Daisy  Norris,  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  richest  men 
in  Waterford,  it  was  not,  as  gossip  had  unanimously 
held,  entirely  an  ajffair  of  ducats ;  there  had  been  pride 
in  the  matter,  too,  and  a  subconscious  self-approba- 
tion— for  Daisy  had  pretty  blue  eyes,  pretty  fair  hair, 
and  was  barely  turned  twenty. 

The  fruit  of  that  attitude  was  visible  now  on  this 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  13 

spring  morning,  as  he  seated  himself  at  breakfast ;  for 
Daisy,  without  a  word,  poured  out  his  tea  and  pushed 
the  cup  across  the  table,  then  rose  again  and  carried 
the  cover-dish  back  from  the  fire. 

"Will  you  have  some  bacon?"  she  asked  in  a  low,, 
pretty,  rather  mincing  voice.  "I  was  keeping  it  hot 
for  you!" 

Carey  looked  up,  as  if  seeing  her  for  the  first  time ; 
and  in  the  light  from  the  window  the  strong  line  of 
his  j  aw  showed  prominently.  "No !"  he  answered 
shortly ;  then  his  glance  fell  again  to  the  letters  in 
his  hand,  and  he  burst  suddenly  into  speech.  "I  de- 
clare I'm  sorry  the  children  aren't  girls,  if  this  is  the 
return  boys  make  you !" 

"Is  that  from  Paris  ?    Is  it  from  Frank  ?" 

"Yes !  It  is  from  Frank !"  He  answered  her  ques- 
tion abruptly,  in  the  deep  masterful  voice  from  which 
he  had  never  troubled  to  expel  the  native  intonation. 

"And  what  is  it  about?" 

He  ignored  the  words,  and,  with  abrupt  irrelevance, 
rapped  out  a  query  of  his  own. 

"How  much  did  old  Dan  Costello  leave  his  daugh- 
ter?" 

Surprise — and  behind  the  surprise,  extreme  curiosity 
— gleamed  in  Daisy's  eyes,  but  she  answered  in  the 
native  roundabout  way.  "Why,  nothing,  of  course! 
What  would  an  accountant  in  a  bank  have  to  leave? 
Don't  we  all  know  her  aunt  is  supporting  her?" 

"And  where  is  she  now?     The  girl,  I  mean." 

"Why  here,  in  Waterford.     She  and  the  aunt  came 


14  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

back  from  France  on  Monday.  I  know,  because  Mary 
saw  them  both  at  the  ten  o'clock  mass  yesterday." 

Carey  gave  a  short  sarcastic  laugh.  "Oh !"  he  said. 
*'Then  I  expect  there  isn't  much  we  couldn't  find  out 
about  Miss  Isabel  Costello!  I  suppose  Mary  could 
tell  us  the  price  of  her  gloves  and  the  size  of  her 
shoes." 

Daisy  said  nothing;  for  it  was  a  fact,  testified  to 
by  many  a  characteristic  scene,  that  her  unmarried 
sister  Mary  and  Stephen  were  actively  antagonistic. 
She  felt  no  impulse  to  defend  her  absent  relative ;  in- 
cidentally, because  Mary  Norris  was  so  exceedingly 
capable  of  defending  herself,  but  particularly  because 
her  curiosity  was  still  aflame  and  prompting  concil- 
iatory action.  For  a  while  she  remained  silent,  in  the 
hope  that  Carey  would  unburden  himself  without 
prompting ;  then  at  last,  as  the  hope  faded,  she  deli- 
cately approached  the  subject. 

"I  wonder  if  Frank  saw  the  Costellos  at  all,  while 
Miss  Costello  was  taking  Isabel  away  from  school! 
'Twas  funny,  their  all  being  in  Paris  at  the  same 
time !" 

"Funny!  I  don't  think  I'd  call  it  funny!  Listen 
to  this !"  Carey  caught  up  the  letter  that  he  had 
been  brooding  upon,  and,  without  comment  or  ex- 
planation, began  to  read  aloud: — 

"Deak  Stephen, — I  write  this  because  it's  only  fair 
to  tell  you  that,  since  you  heard  from  me  last,  some- 
thing very  important  has  happened  to  me.     I  am  en- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  15 

gaged  to  be  married!  I  suppose  you  know  that  old 
Miss  Costello  of  Waterford  came  over  to  Paris  a  fort- 
night ago  to  take  her  niece  home  from  a  convent 
school.  Well,  I  came  across  her  by  the  merest  chance 
the  first  day  she  was  here ;  and — as  she  seemed  rather 
out  of  it  with  the  language  and  one  thing  or  another, 
and  as  'twas  nice  to  see  any  familiar  face — I  made 
myself  civil.  The  end  of  it  all  is  that  I've  been  going 
about  with  her  and  her  niece  for  the  last  ten  days ; 
and  that  Isabel  and  I  have  fallen  in  love  with  each 
other,  and  have  decided  to  get  married  as  soon  as  ever 
I  can  make  a  way  for  myself.  Of  course  I  expect  you 
will  be  awfully  upset  when  first  you  read  this,  and 
will  think  me  an  awful  fool;  but  don't  answer  too 
soon,  for  I  don't  mean  to  spring  it  on  you — and  I 
think  you'll  understand  when  you  see  Isabel.  Any 
way,  as  I  say,  take  time  to  think  it  over !  And  don't 
imagine  I'm  forgetting  how  much  I'm  in  your  debt — 
and  always  will  be. — Your  aJBPectionate  brother, 

"Frank. 

"P.S. — Give  my  love  to  Daisy  and  the  boys.  I  hope 
she  will  be  nice  to  Isabel ;  it's  dull  for  her  living  with 
Miss  Costello. 

"P.P.S. — Of  course  all  this  is  strictly  private. 

"F.  J.  C." 

Carey  read  the  letter  to  the  end  without  comment ; 
then  he  rolled  it  into  a  ball  and  flung  it  across  the 
room  into  the  fire. 


16  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"In  love!"  he  ejaculated  with  biting  contempt.  "In 
love !" 

Daisy's  eyes  had  remained  wide  open  in  the  effort  to 
grasp,  whole  and  entire,  this  astounding  news ;  now 
her  pretty  mouth  opened  as  well. 

*'What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

Carey  glanced  at  her.  "Do  ?  Break  the  whole  thing 
off,  like  you'd  lop  a  dead  branch  from  a  tree!"  He 
drew  his  cup  toward  him,  swallowed  some  of  his  tea, 
and,  with  absent-minded  annoyance,  helped  himself  to 
some  of  the  bacon  he  previously  refused. 

"Do  you  think  it's  for  this  I'm  making  a  doctor  of 
him.''"  he  demanded  after  a  moment,  not  especially  of 
liis  wife,  but  of  the  world  in  general.  "Do  you  think 
it's  for  this  that  I've  saved  him  from  sweating  in  some 
Waterford  office — perhaps  even  standing  behind  a 
counter.?" 

He  was  very  angry  when  he  alluded  thus  openly  to 
the  monetary  straits  from  which  he  had  emerged ;  and 
outbursts  of  passion  had  not  been  frequent  enough  in 
the  five  years  of  marriage  to  eliminate  the  slight,  fas- 
tidious shudder  with  which  Daisy  met  the  revelations. 
She  drew  herself  up  now  with  a  faintly  affected  move- 
ment, indicative  of  her  own  superior  refinement. 

Carey  caught  the  action.  "Oh,  it's  all  very  well  for 
you !"  he  said,  "but  I  can  tell  you,  people  like  Frank, 
who  are  dependent  on  others  for  their  bread  and  but- 
ter, had  best  see  which  side  the  butter  is  put  on  at. 
A  man  with  a  position  to  make  has  nothing  to  do  with 
love.    Love!    Rot!" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  17 

As  the  last  expressive  word  left  his  lips,  the  door  of 
the  dining-room  opened  again,  this  time  to  admit  a 
small,  fair-haired  girl  in  a  neat  tailor-made  dress, 
wearing  a  straw  hat,  and  carrying  a  prayer-book  un- 
der her  arm. 

"Good-morrow,  Daisy !  Good-morrow,  Stephen  I 
How  awfully  late  you  are!"  With  an  absolute  lack 
of  ceremony  she  came  forward,  threw  her  prayer-book 
on  the  table,  and  began  to  pull  off  her  gloves. 

"I'm  too  early  for  the  ten  mass,"  she  announced, 
"so  I  thought  I'd  come  in  for  a  minute." 

Daisy  looked  up.     "How  is  father's  cold?" 

"Oh,  gone,  or  as  good  as  gone.  He  had  a  Turkish 
bath  last  night." 

Carey  raised  his  head.  "Frightfully  dangerous  for 
a  man  with  your  father's  weak  heart." 

Mary  Norris  sniffed  disdainfully.  "We'd  all  haVe 
weak  hearts  if  we  had  time  for  them.  I'd  have  one 
myself  if  I  hadn't  to  do  the  housekeeping.  Daisy,  do 
you  know  who  I  met  while  ago.''" 

"No.    Who?" 

"The  Costello  girl  and  the  aunt!" 

Daisy  almost  started.  "Oh,  Mary!  And  did  you 
speak  to  them  ?" 

"Speak  to  them?  Of  couse  I  did.  I  was  simply  dy- 
ing to  see  her  properly." 

"Well,  and  what  is  she  like?  Do  tell  us!"  In  the 
keenness  of  her  interest  Daisy  pushed  back  her  chair, 
leaving  her  tea  unfinished. 

Mary  waited  a  moment,  with  the  lingering  enjoy- 


18  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

ment  of  the  adept  in  relating  a  piece  of  gossip. 
'**Well,"  she  said  judiciously,  "to  begin  with,  she's 
as  different  as  anything  from  the  lanky  little  thing 
she  used  to  be  before  she  went  to  school.  She's  aw- 
fully curious-looking,  and  yet  she's  awfully  taking. 
She  has  lovely  teeth,  and  a  queer  sort  of  light  in  her 
eyes,  different  from  other  people.  Oh,  and  do  you 
know  what.?" 

"No." 

*'She's  asked  to  the  Fair  Hill  dance — and  she's  go- 
ing to  come  out  at  it !  I  believe  Mrs.  Burke  knew  her 
father  long  ago:  the  Costellos  were  a  good  family  in 
Wexford,  you  know,  though  they  were  as  poor  as 
church  mice.  I  wonder  if  she'll  give  Isabel  a  dress. 
'Twould  be  a  charity  of  she  did,  for  I'm  sure  she  has 
to  wear  the  aunt's  old  clothes." 

Before  she  had  finished,  Daisy  turned  impulsively  to 
Carey.  "Oh,  Stephen,  isn't  that  lovely!  I'll  see  her 
splendidly  at  Fair  Hill." 

Mary's  sharp  green  eyes  followed  her  sister's. 
"Surely  Stephen  isn't  interested  in  the  dance?" 

"No,  Stephen  Is  not  interested,"  Carey  replied,  rising 
from  the  table  and  walking  across  the  room.  At  the 
door  he  looked  back.  "Daisy,  remember  that  that  let- 
ter is  private." 

Daisy  said  nothing;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  disap- 
peared into  the  hall,  Mary  came  quickly  round  the 
table  and  perched  herself  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  him?"  she  asked. 

Daisy  looked  behind  her  with  a  certain  furtiveness. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  19 

*'Wait  a  second  and  I'll  tell  you." 

"It's  all  right.     He'll  be  ages  getting  his  coat." 

"Well,  you'll  be  most  fearfully  surprised!" 

"What  at.?     Do  tell  me!" 

"Am  not  I  telling  you .''    Oh,  you  will  be  surprised !" 

"Go  on,  go  on  !" 

"Stephen  has  had  a  letter  from  Frank,  saying  that 
he  met  the  Costellos  in  Paris." 

"Good  gracious !  And  they  never  said  a  word  about 
him,  though  I  told  them  I  was  coming  in  here !" 

"Didn't  they.?    That  was  deep!" 

"Why  deep?" 

"Because  Frank  says " 

"Oh,  hurry !" 

"I  am  hurrying !  It's  you  that  keep  on  interrupting. 
Frank  met  them  ten  days  ago  in  Paris,  and  ever  since 
he's  been  with  them  morning,  noon,  and  night;  until 
the  end  of  the  whole  thing  is  that  he  has  fallen  head 
over  ears  in  love  with  Isabel  Costello — ^and  actually 
wants  to  marry  her !    Now,  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

Mary  stared  at  her  sister.  "I  never  in  all  my  life 
heard  anything  to  equal  it !"  She  gave  each  word  its 
full  and  separate  value.  "Why,  she  hasn't  a  penny  to 
bless  herself  with !" 

"Not  a  farthing." 

"Stephen  must  be  simply " 

"Ssh!  I  hear  him.  Don't  for  your  life  pretend  that 
I  told  you." 

Mary  gave  her  a  withering  glance.  "Do  you  think 
I'm  a  fool,  Daisy.?"     She  picked  up  her  gloves  and 


20  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

prayer-book,  and  was  sauntering  slowly  toward  the 
door  when  Carey  entered. 

"Hallp!    Going?"  he  said. 

"Only  up  to  the  nursery."  She  swung  out  of  the 
room,  and  they  heard  her  run  upstairs. 

Carey  advanced  a  few  paces.  His  overcoat  was  on, 
and  he  was  carrying  his  hat  in  his  hand.  "Daisy," 
he  said,  "have  you  answered  that  invitation  of  the 
Burkes'  yet.?" 

Daisy  raised  her  eyebrows,  for  all  social  matters 
usually  lay  within  her  undisputed  demesne.  "No. 
Why?" 

"I  suppose  I'm  included  in  it?" 

"Of  course !  But  they  know  you  never  go  to  dances." 

Carey  slowly  buttoned  up  his  coat.  "I  have  been 
thinking,"  he  said ;  "and  it  seems  to  me  that  it's  very 
little  good  tackling  Frank  until  I've  seen  the  girl.  It's 
the  girl  who  must  be  squared  first  of  all.  I've  thought 
it  out,  and  you  may  as  well  accept  this  invitation  for 
me  as  well  as  for  yourself." 

Once  again  in  this  morning  of  surprises  Daisy's  blue 
eyes  opened  widely.  "But,  Stephen "  she  ex- 
claimed. 

No  answer  was  vouchsafed  by  Carey.  Having  given 
his  commands,  it  was  not  his  way  to  justify  them  by 
reasons.  Without  looking  again  at  his  wife,  he  passed 
out  of  the  room  and  down  the  hall;  and  a  moment 
after,  the  closing  of  the  outer  door  announced  to  all 
whom  it  might  concern  that  the  master  spirit  had 
left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  MATTER  of  small  significance,  one  would  say,  that 
a  man  should  announce  his  intention  of  going  to  a 
dance!  But  we  are  dealing  with  a  small  world.  To 
the  ant  a  grain  of  sand  represents  an  appreciable  por- 
tion of  its  own  environment ;  and  in  his  family  circle, 
Carey's  acceptance  of  Mrs.  Michael  Burke's  invita- 
tion made  a  definite  stir  of  excitement. 

The  hall  door  had  barely  closed  upon  him  when 
Daisy  had  flown  up  the  stairs  to  impart  the  news  to  her 
sister ;  and  Mary,  in  the  intervals  of  swinging  the  sec- 
ond child,  Francis,  to  and  fro  on  the  rocking-horse  in 
the  nursery,  had  replied  with  the  terse  comment,  "You 
take  my  word  for  it,  Daisy,  he's  got  his  back  up!" 

There  had  been  a  good  deal  of  unvarnished  truth  in 
this  blunt  sentence,  for  in  her  way  Mary  Norris  was 
a  person  of  discernment.  She  shared  with  Daisy — 
indeed,  with  the  whole  female  section  of  her  set — an 
extraordinary  and  far-reaching  curiosity;  but  with 
her,  inquisitiveness  was  supported  by  a  moral  courage 
and  an  instinct  for  a  secret  so  marked  that  mere  love 
of  scandal  was  raised  to  a  fine  art.  Women  feared 
her,  and  yet  leaned  upon  her ;  but  men  feared  her  and 
fought  shy  of  her,  for  there  was  a  satirical  humour 
in  her  smile  and  a  sharpness  in  her  eye  that  made  her 
a  very  lively  companion,  but  left  you  with  an  un- 
comfortable suspicion  that,  having  amused  you  at  the 


22  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

expense  of  your  neighbours,  she  only  awaited  your 
departure  to  pillory  you  for  the  benefit  of  others.  All 
things  are  grist  to  the  mill  of  such  professed  gossips 
as  Mary  Norris — the  meanness  of  so-and-so's  hus- 
band, the  neglected  condition  of  so-and-so's  children, 
the  terrible  stories  that  so-and-so's  servants  have  told 
in  their  new  situations.  Petty  and  contemptible,  per- 
haps !  And  yet  for  the  class  in  which  it  thrives,  this 
network  of  scandal  has  a  meaning  and  a  result.  Life 
carried  on  under  the  microscope  has  a  curiously  re- 
straining effect  upon  the  units  that  compose  it :  by  a 
high  moral  standard  j'ou  may  influence  the  man  whose 
aims  and  ideals  are  already  elevated,  but  by  the  whole- 
some tonic  of  his  fellow-man's  criticism  you  touch 
every  class  of  human  being.  This  knowledge  that 
other  eyes  are  for  ever  peering  into  his  holy  of  holies 
is  a  factor  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the  life  of  the  Irish 
townsman ;  and  it  may  be  a  question  for  the  sceptic 
whether  his  indisputable  moral  integrity  would  flour- 
ish as  notably  elsewhere  as  it  does  in  its  present  re- 
stricted atmosphere. 

A  fortnight  went  by,  during  which  Stephen  Carey 
never  once  alluded  to  the  coming  festivity,  and  Daisy 
lived  in  a  ferment  of  excitement  concerning  her  new 
dress;  the  question  of  whether  she  would  have  her 
hair  done  at  the  hairdresser's  or  at  home ;  the  continu- 
ous speculations  as  to  who  had,  or  had  not,  been  in- 
cluded in  the  Burkes'  invitation  list.  The  actual  mo- 
ment of  fruition — when  all  doubts  were  to  be  set  at 
rest,  all  conjectures  dissolved  into  certainty — found 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  23 

the  Lady  Lane  household  in  the  usual  excitement  that 
such  an  event  provokes.  Mary  Norris,  who  was  to 
accompany  the  Careys  to  the  dance,  arrived  with  her 
portmanteau  at  five  o'clock,  and  retired  at  once  to  the 
large  back  bedroom  that  was  to  be  her  property  for 
the  night,  and  in  which  Daisy's  new  red  dress  was  al- 
ready laid  out  upon  the  bed,  flanked  by  a  pair  of  high- 
heeled  slippers,  open-work  stockings,  and  a  fan, — 
for  the  sisters  still  retained  the  habit,  borrowed  from 
their  childish  days,  of  dressing  together  for  any  note- 
worthy entertainment. 

Mary  entered  the  room  followed  by  Julia,  and  paused 
at  once  to  examine  the  finery. 

"It's  lovely.  Miss  Mary,  isn't  it.'"'  Julia  hazarded, 
setting  down  the  portmanteau. 

Mary  said  nothing. 

"The  mistress  is  afraid  'tis  the  way  'twill  be  too 
bright.  But  sure,  as  I  was  sayin',  there's  no  tellin' 
colours  by  gaslight !" 

"No !"  Mary  agreed,  mentally  considering  the  effect 
of  the  red  next  her  own  forget-me-not  blue  dress. 

"Will  you  be  havin'  a  cup  of  tea.  Miss  Mary.?  And 
will  I  put  a  match  to  the  fire.?" 

"Oh  yes,  do,  Julia.  I  have  to  crimp  my  hair !  But 
I  don't  know  about  tea.  What  time  will  the  mistress 
be  in.?" 

She  took  off  her  gloves,  threw  them  on  the  table,  and 
began  in  a  businesslike  way  to  unpack  her  things. 

"Oh,  she  can't  be  long  now,  miss.  She's  gone  this 
good  while." 


24  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Julia  knelt  down  before  the  fireplace,  applied  a 
match  to  the  sticks,  and  blew  vigorously  upon  the 
flame.  "  'Tis  the  way  this  kindlin'  is  damp !"  she 
added  to  herself.  "And  sure  I'm  tired  of  tellin' 
Bridget  to  put  it  over  the  range.  Miss  Mary,  I  sup- 
pose 'twill  be  a  grand  ball?" 

"Oh,  yes,  'twill  be  a  splendid  dance.  There  are  over 
a  hundred  asked,  and  there's  to  be  a  band  and  a  sit- 
down  supper.  I  hope  'twon't  rain,  though!"  Mary 
glanced  anxiously  towards  the  window  as  she  drew  her 
dress  from  its  wrappings. 

"I  suppose  'tis  the  garden  you're  thinkin'  of.** 
There's  a  grand  garden  at  Mr.  Burke's." 

Mary  reddened.    "Nonsense,  Julia !" 

But  Julia  had  the  privileges  of  eight  years'  service 
in  the  Norris  family,  so  she  looked  back  over  her 
shoulder  without  perturbation.  "Ah,  go  on.  Miss 
Mary !  Sure,  'tisn't  dancin'  the  whole  time  you'd  be 
on  a  fine  spring  night  like  this !" 

"Indeed,  I  hope  it  is,  if  I  have  partners." 

Julia  smiled  knowingly  to  herself  as  she  rose,  previous 
to  departing ;  then  she  made  a  sudden  gesture  of  de- 
lighted admiration,  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  glories 
of  the  blue  dress. 

"Oh,  Miss  Mary!  But  that's  somethin'  like!  And 
the  lovely  little  silver  bow-knots  on  the  blue  silk !  'Tis 
like  a  Blessed  Virgin's  altar,  it  is !" 

"Yes,  I  think  it's  nice,"  Mary  agreed,  not  quite  cer- 
tain that  the  simile  was  flattering;  then  she  looked 
quickly  round,  as  the  door  behind  her  opened.     "Oh, 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  25 

here's  the  mistress!  Well,  Daisy,  I'm  waiting 
ages !" 

Daisy  came  into  the  room  laden  with  little  tissue- 
paper  parcels,  which  she  deposited  on  a  chair  before 
kissing  her  sister.  "I'm  just  dead!"  she  announced. 
"I  tried  five  shops  for  a  black  aigrette  for  my  hair, 
and  had  to  get  a  bit  of  tulle  in  the  end.  Waterford 
is  a  terrible  place!  But  what  do  you  think  of  the 
dress?  Is  it  fearfully  bright.'"'  She  twisted  round 
eagerly  toward  the  bed. 

"N-no." 

"You  think  it  looks  brighter  than  it  did  at  Mrs. 
Walsh's  yesterday.?" 

"Well,  you  can't  even  see  yourself  properly  at 
Walsh's,  to  say  nothing  about  colours !  I  don't  know 
why  you  go  to  such  a  dingy  old  hole." 

*'She  cuts  very  well !" 

"Not  at  all!    That's  your  imagination." 

"Indeed,  it  isn't !  You  said  yourself  my  brown  was 
the  nicest  dress  I  ever  had.  And  anyway,  Mary,  I 
think  it's  rather  mean  of  you  now,  when  it's  too  late, 
to  be  making  me  dissatisfied.  I  suppose  the  dress  is 
awful !"  Her  voice  trembled  a  little  with  a  mingling 
of  disappointment,  annoyance,  and  fatigu,e.  "Per- 
haps I'd  better  wear  my  old  pink !" 

"Don't  be  silly,  Daisy !" 

"I'm  not  silly!  You'd  be  sillier  if  you  were  in  my 
place !    I  don't  think  I'll  go  at  all !" 

Silence  reigned  after  this  announcement,  while  Mary 
began  to  take  down  her  long  fair  hair. 


26  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Lilly  O'Farrell  has  a  dress  exactly  the  same  colour 
as  yours !"  Daisy  announced  at  last.  "I  saw  it  yes- 
terday at  Walsh's." 

Mary  looked  round,  her  mouth  full  of  hairpins. 
"I'm  sure  I  don't  care  how  many  people  have  the  same 
coloured  dress !"  she  said  indistinctly.  "I  hate  to  be 
remarkable !" 

Daisy  coloured  at  the  thrust.  "It's  better  to 
be  remarkable  than  dowdy.  Julia,  what  are  you 
waiting  for?"  She  turned  suddenly  on  the 
servant. 

"Nothin',  ma'am!  Only  to  hear  when  you'll  be 
takin'  your  tea." 

"Oh,  bother  tea !    I  don't  want  any." 

Mary  hurriedly  took  the  hairpins  out  of  her  mouth, 
"Nonsense,  Daisy !  Don't  be  absurd !  You  know  we'd 
like  tea — unless,  of  course,  you  want  to  have  dinner 
with  Stephen!" 

"You  know  very  well  I'd  hate  to  have  dinner  with 
Stephen !" 

"Well,  for  goodness'  sake  let  us  have  the  tea!" 

Daisy's  attitude  relaxed  a  little.  "All  right !  Very 
well!" 

"And  what'll  we  have?" 

"Well,  we  could  have  some  ham — and  there  are 
cakes " 

"That  would  be  lovely !    Ham,  Julia — and  cakes 

and,  Julia,  don't  forget  the  mustard !" 

"All  right,  Miss  Mary!  And  when  will  you  be 
wantin'  it,  ma'am?" 


THE   FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  27 

Daisy  looked  at  her  sister.  "In  half  an  hour?"  she 
suggested. 

"Or  now.?" 

The  expressions  on  both  their  faces  wavered,  until 
finally  they  laughed.  "Very  well !"  Daisy  said.  "Now, 
Julia,  please!" 

In  silence  they  watched  her  go;  then  Mary  shook 
out  her  long  mane  of  hair  and,  taking  up  a  crimping- 
tongs,  carried  it  to  the  fire  and  placed  it  between  the 
bars. 

"I  wonder  who'll  be  there.?"  she  said  for  the  fiftieth 
time. 

"Owen  Power  will,  anyway !" 

Mary  bent  forward,  and  busied  herself  rather  un- 
necessarily over  the  position  of  the  tongs.  "How  do 
you  know.?" 

"I  met  Josephine  Power  when  I  was  trying  Sheehy's 
for  the  aigrette,  and  she  told  me  Owen  and  Jim  are 
both  going." 

Mary  took  out  the  smoking  tongs  and,  carrying  it 
to  the  dressing-table,  began  to  pass  it  through  her 
hair.  "A  great  condescension  on  Owen's  part,  I'm 
sure!    Oh,  bother!    I've  singed  my  hair." 

For  a  while  Daisy  remained  silent,  watching  her 
sister  as  she  made  a  succession  of  journeys  between 
the  table  and  the  fire ;  then  at  last,  as  Mary  knelt  down 
once  more  before  the  hearth,  she  walked  across  the 
room  and  suddenly  put  her  arm  about  her  shoulder. 

"Polly,  do  you  like  him  still?" 

Mary  turned  and  looked  up  at  her,  her  face  flushed 


28  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

and  half  aggressive.  "I'd  be  very  sorry  to  trouble 
myself  about  any  man !" 

"I  know !    But,  still " 

"What?" 

*'Well,  you  know  he  likes  you." 

«IndeedIdon't!" 

"Nonsense!  You  know  it  right  well.  What  about 
the  picnic  at  Woodstown  in  October?  'Twas  ten 
o'clock  when  you  and  he  got  back." 

"Well,  I  had  a  puncture — and  we  had  to  mend  it." 

They  both  laughed,  but  almost  immediately  Mary 
became  serious  again.  "I  wonder  if  he'll  ask  me  for 
a  dance,  Daisy?     'Twill  be  so  horrible  if  he  doesn't." 

Daisy's  more  malleable  nature  bent  instantly  to  the 
softer  tone.     "As  if  he  wouldn't !"  she  said. 

"Oh,  it's  never  safe  to  be  sure." 

*'Nonsense !" 

Mary  stared  hard  into  the  fire,  as  though  the  riddle 
of  her  future  was  open  and  readable  in  the  heart  of  the 
coals.  "Men  are  awfully  queer,  Daisy,"  she  said  at 
length.     "You  can  never  be  sure  of  a  man." 

"Nonsense!  All  men  marry,  if  they  can  afford  to; 
and — and  if  they  like  any  one." 

A  frown  of  impatience  crossed  Mary's  white  fore- 
head, and  a  little  tinge  of  contempt  lifted  the  comer 
of  her  mouth.  She  shook  back  her  hair,  as  if  about 
to  retort  with  some  scrap  of  the  worldly  wisdom  she 
had  acquired,  no  one  knew  where ;  but  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment  her  impulse  changed. 

"Ah,  well!"  she  said.  "'Twill  be  all  the  same  in  a 
hundred  years !     Here's  Julia — and  the  tea !" 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  dance  was  to  begin  at  nine — an  hour  unusually 
late  and  fashionable  for  an  Irish  town ;  and  at  half- 
past  eight  the  hired  car  that  was  to  convey  the  Careys 
to  Fair  Hill  was  already  drawn  up  in  Lady  Lane. 

It  is  a  peculiarity  of  the  town  of  Waterford  that  no 
closed  vehicle  plies  for  hire  in  the  streets ;  so  when 
those  of  its  inhabitants  who  are  not  blessed  with  car- 
riages fare  forth  after  dark  on  duty  or  on  pleasure, 
they  resort  by  necessity  to  the  livery  stables,  from 
which  issue  vehicles  that  for  the  most  cogent  of  rea- 
sons avoid  the  searching  eye  of  day.  It  may  be  a 
brougham  that  answers  to  the  demand — a  relic  of 
former  glory,  moth-eaten  and  tottering  to  its  fall,  or 
a  hansom-cab  that  has  drifted  like  a  piece  of  flotsam 
from  the  sea  of  London  life,  or  perhaps  it  may  be  a 
"covered  car"  that  can  trace  its  antecedents  to  Lim- 
erick or  to  Cork.  To  those  who  have  not  actually 
travelled  in  such  a  vehicle,  the  name  "covered  car"  is  a 
mere  figure  of  speech,  conveying  nothing,  and  de- 
manding definition:  outwardly,  it  has  the  appearance 
of  a  large  square  box,  one  end  of  which  has  been 
knocked  out  and  replaced  by  a  low  door,  a  step,  and  a 
pair  of  funeral  curtains ;  inwardly,  it  is  possessed  of 
two  seats,  upon  which  the  passengers  sit  vis-a-vis, 
clinging  to  straps  that  depend  from  the  small  win- 
dows set  like  port-holes  on  either  side  of  the  driver's 


30  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

seat.  A  drive  in  a  covered  car  is  never  likely  to  be 
forgotten,  for  a  haphazard  abandonment  of  life  and 
limb  marks  it  from  the  first  moment  to  the  last,  when 
by  an  ingenious  movement  of  the  jarvey  the  horse  is 
pulled  round,  vigorously  backed,  and  the  wheels  of 
the  car  collide  with  fearful  violence  against  the  kerb. 

Such  a  conveyance  Daisy  and  Mary  found  awaiting 
them  when  they  emerged  from  the  house  at  a  quarter 
to  nine,  arrayed  in  long,  light  dust-coats  and  wear- 
ing woollen  wraps  over  their  heads ;  and  immediately 
the  hall  door  was  opened,  the  driver — a  disreputable 
individual  in  a  tall  hat  several  sizes  too  large  for  him 
and  a  coachman's  coat  from  which  most  of  the  silver 
buttons  had  disappeared — ^hurried  forward,  thrusting 
a  lighted  pipe  into  his  pocket. 

"Wait  a  minute,  ma'am !  Wait  a  minute !  I'll  back 
her!" 

"Oh,  don't!"  Mary  cried.  "Don't  back  at  all!  We'll 
get  in  as  it  is." 

"Oh,  sure,  whatever  you  like.  Miss  Norris !  'Tis 
equal  to  me.  I'm  on'y  thinkin'  of  ye'er  feet  on  the 
muddy  road — though,  after  all,  'tis  more  dust  than 
mud  it  is." 

Neither  took  any  notice  of  this  mixed  statement,  but 
as  hastily  as  possible  beat  past  his  dirty  assisting 
hand,  and  seated  themselves  high  up  under  the  win- 
dows of  the  car,  to  protect  their  skirts  as  far  as  might 
be  from  subsequent  contact  with  Carey's  feet. 

"I  feel  awfully  nervous !"  Daisy  announced,  when  at 
last  the  driver  had  reluctantly  returned  to  his  horse's 


THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  31 

head,  to  tie  up  a  broken  piece  of  harness.  "I  wonder 
if  my  hair  is  straight  ?  I  wish  to  goodness  I  had  gone 
to  Davitt's  after  all.     I'm  sure  it's  hideous." 

"Not  at  all !  It's  all  right !"  Mary  said  without  look- 
ing at  her. 

"I  wonder  if  I'll  have  any  partners?" 

"You  will,  of  course!  Anyway,  it  doesn't  matter 
to  you.    You're  married." 

Daisy  turned  round  indignantly.  "Oh,  indeed, 
doesn't  it.''"  Then  she  paused,  as  Carey  appeared  in 
the  open  doorway,  and  in  the  diversion  of  interest  her 
anger  died.  "How  well  Stephen  looks  in  evening 
dress !"  she  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

"That's  a  matter  of  taste."  Mary  stooped  to  gather 
in  her  frills ;  and  as  she  raised  her  head,  she  added  in 
a  louder  voice,  "For  goodness'  sake,  Stephen,  hurry! 
We  won't  get  a  single  partner." 

Carey  came  slowly  across  the  pavement,  buttoning 
up  his  coat.  "All  right !  Go  on  now !"  he  called  to  the 
driver,  as  he  placed  his  foot  on  the  step. 

With  his  added  weight,  the  shafts  rose  and  the  car 
dropped  back  to  what  was  its  typical  angle. 

"Good  heavens !"  Mary  exclaimed.  "You're  a  fright- 
ful weight!" 

"Twelve  stone !  Why  aren't  you  sitting  at  the  same 
side.?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  scorn.  "On  account  of  our 
dresses,  of  course!" 

Further  controversy  was  cut  short  by  the  starting 
of  the  car,  which  was  accomplished  by  much  noisy 


32  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

admonition  from  the  driver  and  sundry  backings  and 
false  starts  on  the  part  of  the  horse,  before  they  could 
pass  triumphantly  down  the  street  at  a  respectable 
trot.  For  the  first  ten  minutes  a  cramped  and  uncom- 
fortable silence  reigned;  then  at  last,  as  they  came 
within  appreciable  distance  of  the  steep  ascent  that 
led  to  Fair  Hill,  Carey  spoke  again,  moving  his  legs 
painfully. 

"Of  all  the  abominable  tortures  man  ever  invented," 
he  said,  "covered  cars  are  the  worst !  This  decides  me. 
I'll  have  that  motor  of  Leader's." 

At  the  tremendous  announcement  Daisy  jumped 
round  in  her  seat,  forgetful  even  of  her  dress.  "Oh, 
Stephen,  you  don't  mean  it.?  Will  you  really?  How 
lovely !  How  perfectly  lovely !  I  don't  know  how  I'll 
sit  in  it,  the  first  day  we  go  out;  I'll  be  so  terribly 
proud !" 

INIary  lifted  her  chin.  "They  say  it  nearly  beggared 
Leader !" 

"So  much  the. better  for  me!  He  paid  a  thousand 
for  the  car,  and  now  he'll  be  glad  to  get  four  hundred 
for  it." 

"Oh,  but  the  buying  isn't  all !  Old  Mr.  Hayse  told 
me  the  other  day,  as  a  dead  secret,  that  it  costs  hira 
five  hundred  a  year,  with  petrol  and  repairs  and 
things." 

"Well,  old  Hayse  is  as  blind  as  a  bat  and  drives  at 
fifty  miles  an  hour.  If  you  knew  the  compensation 
cases  I've  settled  for  him  out  of  court,  you'd  say  five 
hundred  was  doing  it  rather  cheap.     Here  we  are  at 


THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  33 

the  hill !  I'll  walk  up,  Daisy !"  He  opened  the  door 
of  the  car  without  calling  to  the  driver,  and  let  him- 
self out. 

As  the  horse  started  forward  in  appreciation  of  the 
lightened  weight,  Daisy  thrust  her  head  out  of  the 
car. 

"Stephen !     Stephen !" 

"Yes!    What?" 

"You'll  meet  us  at  the  door  of  the  dancing-room?" 

He  assented,  and  stepped  back  to  the  side  of  the 
road,  as  a  large  one-horse  carriage,  crowded  to  its 
fullest  extent,  dashed  proudly  past  the  hired  car ;  and, 
at  the  same  moment,  Mary  caught  Daisy's  arm  and 
drew  her  back  into  the  shadows. 

"Don't  hang  out  like  that,  Daisy !  It  looks  so 
badly !" 

"Why?    Whose  car  was  it?" 

"The  Powers',  of  course!     Didn't  you  see?" 

When  Carey's  foot  dropped  from  the  step  of  the  car 
to  the  hard  roadway,  he  drew  a  breath  unmistakably 
pregnant  with  relief.  Whether  the  relief  depended 
entirely  upon  a  release  from  a  cramped  position,  or 
whether  it  had  for  inspiration  a  subtler  sense  of  loos- 
ened bonds,  it  is  for  the  psychologist  to  say.  Certain 
it  is  that  he  felt  more  free  of  outlook  and  more  in- 
dividually independent  after  Daisy's  appeal  had 
melted  into  silence  and  Daisy's  pretty  anxious  face 
had  been  merged  in  the  darkness  of  the  car.  Not 
that  he  cherished  an  opinion  of  himself  as  a  man 


34  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

shackled  by  matrimony ;  nor  that  we,  who  would  fol- 
low his  story,  must  think  of  him  as  such !  Love,  and 
the  conditions  engendered  by  love,  had  never  loomed 
large  enough  upon  his  horizon  to  be  considered  as 
factors  capable  of  mending  or  marring  his  existence. 
His  feelings,  as  he  stiffened  his  shoulders  to  the  as- 
cent of  the  hill,  were  simply  the  feelings  of  a  man 
who  has  been  freed  from  a  position  that  wearied  him, 
and  who,  as  a  matter  of  reaction,  turns  with  zest  to 
his  personal  concerns.  A  task  awaited  him  to-night, 
— a  task  self -set  and  therefore  acceptable ;  and  all 
action — even  action  so  tame  as  that  which  he  antici- 
pated— had  its  own  incentive  power.  He  reached  the 
summit  of  the  hill  almost  as  soon  as  the  covered  car ; 
but,  jealous  of  his  stolen  solitude,  he  did  not  follow 
it  up  the  avenue  of  chestnuts  that  glinted  a  faint 
green  against  the  April  night  sky,  but  paused  outside 
the  gates  to  look  back  over  Waterford,  lying  half- 
veiled  in  vaporous  fog. 

The  scene  was  eloquent,  as  are  all  Irish  scenes — 
touched  with  an  unnamed  pathos,  wrapped  in  that 
mystery  from  which  memory  can  draw  such  innumera- 
ble and  binding  threads ;  and  as  he  looked  down  upon 
the  clustering  roofs  and  pointing  spires,  he  stepped 
unthinkingly  into  that  region  of  sentiment  to  which, 
by  right  of  birth,  every  Irishman  holds  a  key,  and  into 
which  his  feet  turn  instinctively  the  moment  the  rein 
of  self-restraint  is  loosed. 

As  in  the  windings  of  a  dream,  his  mind  sped  back 
over  the  years  of  his  youth  to  the  days  when,  as  a 


THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  35 

little  red-haired  boy,  he  had  followed  his  father's 
workmen  up  their  scaffoldings,  and  had  looked  out 
over  this  same  city  of  roofs  and  spires,  weaving  with 
a  child's  imagination  picture  upon  picture  of  the 
world  beyond  the  confines  that  formed  his  home.  The 
subject  of  these  pictures  had  always  been  the  same, — 
always  the  wonderful,  fabled  world  where  name  and 
fortune  awaited  the  adventurous. 

But  fate  and  time  between  them  had  clipped  the 
wings  of  the  soaring  dreams ;  the  boy,  with  his  ugly, 
clever  little  face  and  preternaturally  observant  eyes, 
had  slowly  grown  to  manhood  without  sight  of  that 
great  Beyond:  had  slowly  grown  to  manhood,  and  to 
the  conscious  compromise  with  ambition  that  men  of 
his  country  and  of  his  class  are  daily  and  yearly 
driven  to  make.  In  Ireland,  the  bread  of  expediency 
is  the  staff  of  life,  and  Stephen  Carey  had  early  seated 
himself  at  the  frugal  board.  If  now,  in  these  later 
days,  a  ghost  of  the  lost  ambition  ever  glided  behind 
his  chair,  pointing  a  wavering  hand  towards  the  great 
market-place  of  life,  where  the  fountains  flow  to 
quench  all  thirsts,  only  his  eyes  saw  the  passing  of 
the  shade :  none  guessed  that  for  a  moment  his  achieve- 
ments shrank  to  their  true  proportion,  and  the  good 
substantial  bread  became  as  ashes  in  his  mouth. 

Out  of  the  vaporous  mist  the  phantom  rose  with  its 
train  of  stifled  hopes  pressing  up  against  him,  whis- 
pering inaudible  words,  proffering  intangible  em- 
braces. But  his  mood  to-night  was  aggressive  rather 
than  depressed;  he  shook  off  the  clinging  presence, 


36  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

and  set  his  face  towards  reality,  pictured  by  the  long 
line  of  budding  trees  and  beyond  them,  by  the  large 
square  house  ablaze  with  light. 

The  hall  door  of  Fair  Hill  was  hospitably  open  as 
he  drew  level  with  the  house,  and  he  saw  as  on  a  stage 
the  lighted  interior — ^the  fine  square  hall,  built  within 
the  last  five  years,  and  possessing  not  a  fragment  of 
romance ;  the  rugs  of  expensive  texture  and  vivid 
colouring;  the  palms  standing  upon  ugly  pedestals 
of  glazed  pottery,  each  detail  significant,  each  be- 
traying in  its  own  proportion  the  taste  and  the  social 
standing  of  Michael  Burke,  successful  dealer  in  but- 
ter, justice  of  the  peace  under  the  new  regime,  kindli- 
est, most  honest,  least  intellectual  of  men. 

Burke  himself  passed  across  the  lighted  hall  as  Carey 
mounted  the  steps,  and  paused  to  greet  him. 

"You're  very  fashionable,  Stephen,"  he  cried,  "but 
better  late  than  never!    Where  are  the  ladies?" 

"Oh,  they're  here !  I  walked  up  the  hill.  How  does 
this  sort  of  thing  suit  you?" 

Michael  Burke  made  a  comical  face.  "Well,  to  tell 
the  truth,"  he  said,  "there's  great  temptation  in  the 
thought  of  my  old  pipe  upstairs.  But  when  the  young 
people  begin  to  grow  up,  Stephen,  faith,  pipes  and 
the  rest  must  go  empty !  You'll  be  in  the  same  boat 
yourself  some  day,  when  you  have  three  young  men 
waiting  to  be  settled." 

Carey  laughed  indulgently,  for  he  liked  Michael 
Burke,  with  his  odd  turns  of  speech,  his  homely  ways, 
and  sterling  character.    "I  suppose  so !"  he  agreed, — 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  37 

"I  suppose  so,  indeed!  Where  am  I  to  leave  my 
coat?" 

"Oh,  upstairs !  Upstairs !  My  little  snuggery  has 
been  turned  inside-out  for  a  dressing-room.  Up  with 
you !  You  know  the  way.  There's  the  first  dance  be- 
ginning, and  Ellen  will  be  wanting  me !  Don't  be  long, 
though !"  With  a  nod  and  a  friendly  smile,  the  little 
man  disappeared  through  a  velvet-draped  doorway 
into  a  room  from  which  the  first  bars  of  a  waltz  were 
floating  out  into  the  hall. 

A  very  few  minutes  sufficed  to  relieve  Carey  of  his 
hat  and  coat,  and  presently  he  was  back  again  in  the 
hall,  following  the  direction  his  host  had  taken.  The 
dancing-room  was  already  full  of  whirling  couples 
when  he  made  his  appearance ;  and,  pausing  inside  the 
door,  he  was  compelled  to  make  one  of  a  little  group 
of  young  men  and  girls  who  had  hurried  down  from 
the  dressing-room  at  the  first  sound  of  the  music, 
but  who  were  reserving  themselves  for  the  second 
dance,  while  they  criticised  their  fellow-guests. 

One  or  two  heads  were  turned  as  he  appeared,  and  a 
couple  of  youths  muttered  a  diffident  "Good-night, 
Mr.  Carey !"  but  the  girls  of  the  group  scarcely  no- 
ticed him.  In  their  world,  the  married  man  hardly 
exists  as  an  independent  being,  for  he  is  a  thing  ap- 
propriated, labelled,  laid  irrevocably  on  the  shelf.  For 
the  first  few  moments  his  presence  had  a  damping  ef- 
fect, but  very  soon  the  animal  spirits  of  the  party  rose 
above  the  shy  silence,  and  set  them  chattering  again 
like  a  band  of  sparrows. 


38  THE   FLY  ON    THE   WHEEL 

"I  tell  you  what,  though,  she's  awfully  pretty!" 
The  man  who  spoke  was  Owen  Power,  a  young  bar- 
rister of  handsome  face  and  consequential  manners, 
who  paid  periodical  visits  to  his  people  in  Waterford, 
and  who  was  supposed  to  bring  with  him  from  Dublin 
an  air  of  fashion  and  advancement  not  locally  to  be 
acquired. 

"Owen  is  struck!"  put  in  a  heavy  youth,  in  a  dull, 
drawling  voice. 

"What'll  somebody  else  say.?"  cried  a  girl  of  seven- 
teen, with  a  dazzling  complexion,  and  bright,  im- 
pertinent eyes. 

"Shut  up.  Amy !"  The  heavy  youth  had  a  brother's 
privileges,  and  used  them  ungallantly. 

Amy  laughed  and  tossed  her  head.  "All  right !  I'll 
say  nothing — but  I'll  think  the  more !" 

The  brother  growled  something  unintelligible,  and 
at  the  same  time  Power  adjusted  his  pince-nez  and 
leant  forward. 

"Here  she  is!    And,  I  say,  doesn't  she  dance!" 

"Who  is  she  dancing  with.^"' 

"I  can't  see." 

"It's  Willie  Neville!" 

"No,  it  isn't !" 

"Yes  it  is,  though!"  The  girls  peered  over  each 
other's  shoulders  in  a  fever  of  curiosity. 

"I  say !"  Power  cried  again, — "I  say,  doesn't  she 
dance!  She  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  Spanish  dancer 
we  had  in  Dublin  for  a  week  last  year." 

"Oh,  well,  she's  nearly  foreign  as  it  is !"    Amy  mur- 


THE   FLY   ON    THE  WHEEL  39 

mured.  "Half  the  Wexford  people  have  Spanish 
blood.    Here  she  is !" 

The  word  "foreign"  attracted  Carey,  who  had  been 
absently  trying  to  single  out  his  wife's  red  dress  in 
the  crowded  room.  It  touched  him  to  interest,  and 
instinctively  he  turned  to  find  the  object  of  the  de- 
scription. 

Out  of  the  heterogeneous  crowd  that  twisted  and 
reversed  and  backed  in  a  frenzy  of  energetic  joy,  his 
eyes  alighted  upon  one  figure  and  remained  arrested, 
while  in  his  mind  Power's  words  found  a  sudden  and 
strenuous  echo.  She  could  dance!  She  certainly 
could  dance ! 

By  ordinary  judgment,  she  was  merely  a  girl  of 
twenty ;  but  in  that  moment  she  might  have  been  a 
flower  swaying  in  the  wind,  a  young  animal  stretching 
itself  to  the  sun,  a  bird  in  its  first  flight, — anything 
fresh  from  Nature's  hand,  pulsing  with  the  delight 
of  living  and  knowing  itself  alive.  She  skimmed  down 
the  room,  unconscious  of  the  partner  whose  arm  en- 
circled her ;  she  saw  nothing  beyond  the  stirring  per- 
spective of  light  and  colour,  heard  nothing  but  the 
swaying  music  of  the  waltz  that  swelled  and  faded  in 
waves  of  sound.  She  swept  past  the  little  group  in 
the  doorway,  totally  unaware  of  its  existence,  and  for 
one  instant  Carey  looked  down  into  her  face.  But  it 
was  only  for  an  instant:  immediately  he  drew  back 
against  the  wall,  with  a  curious,  half-shamed  sense  of 
having  looked  upon  something  not  meant  for  his  gaze. 
For  the   essence   of   womanhood,   intimate   and   un- 


40  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

guarded,  lay  in  the  flushed  cheeks,  the  half -closed  eyes 
and  parted  lips. 

To  rid  himself  of  the  sensation,  he  turned  abruptly 
to  Power.  "Who  is  that.  Power?"  he  asked.  "The 
girl  in  white?" 

Power  answered  with  his  eyes  upon  the  retreating 
couple.  "That's  old  Miss  Costello's  niece — just  back 
from  school." 

The  last  bars  of  the  waltz  crashed  out,  and  a  laugh- 
ing, excited  crowd  made  a  rush  for  the  door.  Carey 
stepped  aside  to  let  it  pass  ;  and  then  slowly,  as  though 
acting  upon  some  half-formed  thought,  he  walked 
down  the  ballroom  to  where  Mrs.  Michael  Burke  was 
holding  a  little  court. 


CHAPTER  V 

Very  slowly  Carey  walked  down  the  room  to  where  a 
group  of  twelve  or  fourteen  elderly  women,  arrayed 
in  dark  silk  dresses  and  wearing  lace  caps,  were  gath- 
ered about  their  hostess,  closely  observant  of  the  scene 
being  enacted  before  them.  Every  guest  in  the  ball- 
room, with  his  or  her  genealogical  tree,  was  accurately 
known  to  each  of  these  spectators,  and  a  running  fire 
of  comment  and  criticism  kept  pace  with  their  vari- 
ous actions.  A  little  tremor  of  interest  and  curiosity 
passed  over  the  group  when  Carey's  approach  was 
signalled,  and  glances  of  speculation  were  rapidly  ex- 
changed, heads  brought  closer  together,  and  voices 
discreetly  lowered. 

With  a  man's  innate  sensitiveness  to  observation,  he 
made  haste  to  single  out  his  hostess  and  shelter  behind 
her  greeting.  Not  that  he  had  any  affection  for  Mrs. 
Michael  Burke ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  a  never-failing 
source  of  wonder  to  him  how  kindly,  commonplace 
Michael  could  ever  have  chosen  such  a  mate,  for  Mrs. 
Burke  was  what,  in  her  particular  set,  is  known  as 
"very  grand,"  which,  literally  translated,  conveys  the 
impression  of  a  vast  and  unlovable  superiority  of  man- 
ner, coupled  with  definite  social  ambitions.  In  his 
feeling  of  vague  dislike  Carey  shared  a  common  opin- 
ion, for  not  even  Burke's  own  relations  had  ever,  in 
the  twenty  odd  years  of  his  married  life,  arrived  at 


42  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

the  point  of  feeling  at  home  with  Mrs.  Michael.  Her 
invitations  to  Fair  Hill  were  never  refused,  for  such 
invitations  implied  a  certain  social  distinction,  but 
the  uncultured  band  of  relatives  never  outgrew  the 
nervous  sense  of  the  hostess's  critical  eye,  and  a  sigh 
of  relief  invariably  escaped  them  when  the  large  iron 
gates,  aggressive  in  their  prosperous  coating  of  white 
paint,  clanged  behind  them  and  they  were  free  to 
breathe  their  own  less  rarefied  air. 

This  same  consciousness  of  cold  criticism  fell  now 
upon  Carey  as  he  clasped  her  long,  thin  hand,  encased 
in  a  well-fitting  black  kid  glove,  for  her  actions  and 
bearing  could  convey  to  a  nicety  the  precise  esteem  in 
which  a  guest  was  held.  As  the  daughter  of  a  bank 
manager,  she  was  obliged  in  the  present  instance  to 
look  askance  at  Carey's  antecedents,  though,  as  the 
wife  of  a  successful  trader,  she  granted  him  the  meed 
of  praise  due  to  his  self-earned  position.  In  his  case, 
circumstances  balanced  each  other.  He  had  been  un- 
fortunately brought  up,  but  he  had  married  well. 
Her  fingers  closed  round  his  with  a  certain  degree 
of  cordiality,  and  her  thin  face  relaxed  into  a  smile. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Carey!  I  have  just  been  talk- 
ing to  your  wife ;  she  danced  the  first  dance  with  my 
cousin,  Surgeon-Major  Cusacke.  He's  stationed  at 
the  Curragh,  you  know.  Such  a  nice  fellow !  I  must 
introduce  you  to  each  other."  She  spoke  in  a  high, 
clipped  voice,  from  which  the  brogue  had  been  care- 
fully eliminated, — a  voice  that,  in  its  studied  preci- 
sion, had  something  in  common  with  his  wife's. 


THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  43 

The  similarity  struck  Carey,  flashing  across  his  mind 
with  a  slight,  sharp  contempt.  Usually,  he  was  not 
a  little  proud  of  Daisy's  social  advantages,  but  this 
reflection  of  them  in  a  woman  who  was  antagonistic 
to  him  jarred  upon  his  senses,  still  tingling  from  con- 
tact with  elemental  things.  Dropping  Mrs.  Burke'^ 
hand,  he  answered  quickly  and  indiff'erently.  "Oh, 
Cusacke!  I  met  him  at  the  Tramore  races  last 
year." 

Mrs.  Burke  was  sensible  of  the  little  slight,  but  she 
prided  herself  on  being  a  hostess  and  a  woman  of  the 
world;  and,  whatever  her  silent  criticism  of  his  man- 
ners, she  gave  no  outward  expression  of  it. 

"And  what  about  yourself,  Mr.  Carey?  Are  you 
going  to  play  cards?  Or  can  we  persuade  you  to 
dance?  There  are  plenty  of  pretty  girls  here — but 
the  men  are  always  wanted." 

Carey  laughed.     "Old  married  men  like  me?" 

She  smiled  the  chilly  smile  that  was  thought  the  es- 
sence of  good  taste.  "Oh,  you  mustn't  be  running 
yourself  down  !  Let  me  find  a  partner  for  you.  But, 
of  course,  you  know  everybody  here !" 

"Indeed  I  don't!  It  makes  me  feel  quite  old  seeing 
all  these  children  who  were  in  the  nursery  in  my  danc- 
ing days." 

"What  nonsense!  There's  nobody  here  you  don't 
know — unless,  perhaps,  Dan  Costello's  daughter. 
You  remember  the  Costellos  ?  Dan  was  with  my  father 
in  the  bank  in  Enniscorthy  before  he  was  moved 
here." 


44  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember  him.  A  dark,  excitable  little 
man." 

"Yes.  The  greatest  fool  that  ever  lived.  If  you 
made  a  king  of  Dan  Costello,  he'd  be  begging  in  the 
streets  the  week  after!    He  hadn't  a  grain  of  sense." 

"Who  was  it  he  married.'"' 

"Don't  you  remember.?  He  ran  away  with  a  Miss 
Dysart  of  Derryvane.  'Twas  the  talk  of  the  County 
Wexford  for  a  year  after.  Her  father  cut  her  off 
without  a  penny;  and,  they  say,  she  used  to  have  to 
turn  Dan's  old  coats  for  herself  when  he  was 
done  with  them!  But  all  the  Wexford  people  are 
queer !" 

Carey  laughed.     "And  what  about  the  girl.?" 

"Oh,  Isabel!  Isabel  is  pretty.  Perhaps  you  saw 
her,  though.     She  was  dancing  the  first  dance." 

"I  saw  her,  yes !"  He  was  careful  to  answer  indif- 
ferently. 

"And  what  did  you  think  of  her.?  She's  curious- 
looking,  isn't  she.?" 

He  made  no  reply. 

"Your  wife  and  your  sister-in-law  admire  her 
greatly.  I  must  introduce  you  to  her.  I  wonder 
where  she's  gone  to !" 

"She's  half-way  down  the  room,  standing  near  the 
door."  Carey  still  kept  his  voice  studiedly  uncon- 
cerned, for  he  dreaded  Mrs.  Michael  Burke  as  we 
dread  all  powerful  influences,  the  workings  of  which 
we  do  not  understand. 

"Oh,  is  she.?    We'll  go  and  find  her,  then."    She  ex- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  45 

cused  herself  to  the  nearest  of  the  matrons,  and  sailed 
down  the  room,  with  Carey  following  in  her  wake. 

As  they  drew  near  to  Isabel  Costello,  she  was  stand- 
ing by  the  wall,  the  centre  of  a  group  of  men,  her 
head  thrown  slightly  backward,  so  that  the  light  from 
the  chandeliers  fell  full  upon  her  rounded  chin,  her 
parted  lips,  and  white,  flawless  teeth.  More  than 
ever,  she  suggested  the  young  animal  stretching  itself 
to  the  warmth  and  comfort  of  the  sun — to  the  caresses 
of  life ;  and  this  subtle,  indescribable  impression  came 
home  to  Carey  interwoven  with  her  physical  being — 
lying  like  a  shadow  in  the  blackness  of  her  hair,  danc- 
ing like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  in  her  hazel  eyes. 

At  the  moment  that  they  paused  beside  her,  she  was 
holding  up  her  programme,  the  pencil  poised  in  her 
hand,  for  dancing  eyes  roving  from  one  man's  face 
to  another,  in  transparent  joy  at  the  exercise  of 
power.  "Well,  I  can't  give  it  to  you  aU!"  she  was 
saying  in  a  clear  voice.  "I  can't  give  it  to  you  all — 
unless  I  divide  myself  up  into  little  bits !  And,  even 
then,  only  the  person  who  got  my  feet  would  have  a 
good  dance !"  She  laughed,  once  more  displaying  her 
strong,  white  teeth. 

"Isabel!  Here's  somebody  I  want  to  introduce  to 
you !" 

She  turned  at  once  at  sound  of  Mrs.  Burke's  voice, 
the  laughter  still  on  her  lips. 

"Mr.  Carey  !  Miss  Costello !  And  don't  dance  too 
much,  Isabel!  Your  aunt  will  be  blaming  me  if  you 
look  washed-out  to-morrow." 


46  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

A  flash  of  amusement  sKot  irresistibly  from  the  girl's 
radiant  eyes  to  Carey's,  and  involuntarily  he  re- 
sponded to  it,  as  he  acknowledged  the  introduction; 
but  the  opening  bars  of  the  next  waltz  came  swinging 
down  the  room  as  he  bent  his  head,  and  before  he 
could  speak  the  little  group  of  men  became  clamorous 
again. 

"Well,  Miss  Costello,  and  who  is  to  have  the  dance?" 

"I  asked  first,  you  know !" 

"Indeed,  you  didn't.  Jack!  'Twas  I!  Wasn't  it, 
Miss  Costello?" 

"Well,  I  asked  last.  And  the  last  shall  be  first,  you 
know !"  Owen  Power  pushed  his  way  to  the  front 
with  a  confident  smile. 

Again  Isabel  looked  from  one  face  to  the  other. 
"I  tell  you  what  I'll  do  !"  she  said  suddenl3^  "I'll  give 
the  dance  to  Mr.  Carey — and  then  none  of  you  can  be 
jealous!"  Like  a  flash  she  wheeled  round  upon 
Stephen, 

The  demand  in  her  glance  was  so  strong,  the  whole 
onslaught  so  sudden,  that  no  thought  of  resistance 
suggested  itself  to  him.  Without  a  word  he  stepped 
forward  and  put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  swinging 
her  out  into  the  circle  of  dancers  that  was  rapidly 
filling  the  room. 

It  was  five  years  or  more  since  he  had  danced,  but 
few  Irishmen  are  awkward  in  an  art  that  comes  to 
them  more  or  less  naturally.  He  guided  her  carefully 
down  the  room,  testing  his  powers,  exercising  his 
memory,  anxious  not  to  do  himself  discredit ;  then, 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  47 

as  he  gained  the  farther  end,  and  passed  the  group  of 
matrons,  the  spirit  of  the  moment  suddenly  entered 
into  him,  as  the  music  quickened  and  he  felt  the  strong 
supple  body  of  his  partner  brace  itself  in  response. 
A  thrill  passed  through  him,  dispersing  a  long 
apathy ;  his  position  and  his  responsibilities  were  mo- 
mentarily submerged  in  the  sense  of  sound  and  mo- 
tion ;  his  arm  instinctively  tightened,  drawing  the  girl 
closer,  and  with  one  impulse  they  spun  out  into  the 
centre  of  the  room. 

For  several  minutes  they  danced  in  silence;  then  at 
last  they  paused  by  the  door  where  they  had  first  met. 
They  looked  at  each  other,  and  she  gave  a  breathless 
little  laugh. 

"How  well  you  dance!" 

"I  don't !    'Twas  you  made  me." 

She  coloured  with  pleasure.  "Do  I  dance  well, 
then?" 

"Well?     You  dance  wonderfully." 

"I  learnt  at  the  convent  in  Paris  from  a  French 
teacher.  We  weren't  supposed  to  leam  waltzes,  but 
she  taught  me.  There's  nothing  so  heavenly  as  danc- 
ing, is  there?" 

Carey  looked  at  her,  engrossed  in  some  thought  of 
his  own. 

Her  face  changed  and  darkened.  "But  perhaps  you 
didn't  enjoy  it?"  she  added,  swift  as  lightning  in  her 
change  of  tone. 

"Didn't  I?"     His  eyes  were  still  upon  hers. 

The  blood  rose  quickly  to  her  face,  chasing  away  the 


48  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

shadows.  "Then  perhaps  it's  only  that  you're  trying 
to  be  nice  to  me,  because  it's  my  first  dance?" 

The  tone  of  the  voice,  the  utterance  of  the  words, 
were  charged  with  unconscious  coquetry.  The  sense 
of  exhilaration  swept  over  Carey  afresh,  as  though 
her  light  fingers  had  lifted  the  dry  record  of  his  days 
and  her  light  breath  had  blown  the  dust  from  the 
pages. 

"Could  I  be  nice — even  if  I  tried .f"'  His  tongue,  un- 
used to  the  tossing  of  words,  brought  out  the  question 
awkwardly — stupidly,  it  seemed  to  him ;  and  he  looked 
to  see  her  lip  curl. 

But,  so  fine  is  the  net  by  which  fate  snares,  she  liked 
the  embarrassment  in  his  voice;  she  liked  his  evident 
unfitness  for  the  game  of  give  and  take.  It  was  ex- 
citing to  put  it  to  the  test — to  step  forward,  sounding 
his  interest — to  retreat,  daunted  by  the  mystery  that 
shrouds  the  unknown  personality.  Her  feminine  in- 
tuition recognised  the  essential — the  man — in  Carey, 
and  her  feminine  instinct  rose  to  meet  it.  Premature 
instinct,  perhaps,  in  a  girl  of  twenty !  But  mentally, 
as  well  as  physically,  the  admixture  of  southern  blood 
was  marked  by  early  development.  As  her  body 
was  built  upon  gracious  lines,  so  her  mind  had 
already  flowered,  where  others  lay  folded  in  the 
bud. 

"You  are  nice — even  without  trying."  She  felt  her 
pulses  throb  at  her  own  daring,  and  the  sensation  was 
delight. 

Carey  took  a  step  forward.    "You'll  have  to  justify 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  49 

that !"  he  said  quickly.  "You'll  have  to  give  me  an- 
other dance." 

Without  a  word,  she  handed  him  her  programme; 
and  as  they  bent  over  the  little  card,  their  heads  close 
together,  their  shoulders  all  but  touching,  she  was 
conscious  that  her  heart  was  beating  faster  than  it 
had  beaten  all  the  evening,  exciting  though  the  even- 
ing had  been. 

"Which  would  you  like?" 

"This !"  He  drew  a  line  through  a  dance  in  the 
middle  of  the  programme.  "And  now,  where  will  we 
go?" 

As  he  handed  her  back  the  card,  some  crashing 
chords  came  down  the  room,  indicating  the  end  of  the 
second  waltz,  and  in  response,  half  a  dozen  couples 
stopped  at  the  door,  and  hurried  out  into  the  hall. 
The  first  to  halt  were  his  sister-in-law,  Mary,  and 
young  Power;  and  as  they  passed,  Mary's  keen  eyes 
swept  over  his  face  and  Isabel's. 

"Daisy  waited  ten  minutes  for  you !"  she  remarked 
as  she  went  by. 

Isabel  looked  after  her  in  surprise.  "Mary  Norris 
didn't  seem  to  know  me !" 

"Oh,  you'll  get  used  to  that !  It's  a  habit  of  Mary's 
to  kiss  people  one  day  and  cut  them  the  next." 

Isabel's  surprise  was  turned  upon  him.  His  tone, 
his  expression,  his  bearing  had  all  changed  as  if  by 
magic.  He  had  drawn  back  into  a  shell  of  reserve, 
as  though  in  the  moment  of  expansion  some  antago- 
nistic influence  had  blown  across  his  mind. 


50  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Let  us  get  out  of  this  crowd,"  he  added  in  the  same 
curt  voice. 

In  the  hall  and  on  the  stairs  some  chattering  girls 
and  their  attendant  youths  had  already  found  seats ; 
but  the  hall  door  was  open,  offering  a  tempting  view 
of  dark  trees  and  deserted  pathways.  Carey  paused 
and  looked  towards  it. 

"I  suppose  you'd  be  afraid  to  go  out.''" 

Isabel's  momentary  depression  flared  to  excitement. 

"Afraid?    What  would  I  be  afraid  of?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Wet  feet,  I  suppose.  All  girls' 
shoes  are  paper." 

She  withdrew  her  fingers  from  his  arm,  and,  with 
her  head  held  high,  led  the  way  across  the  hall  and 
out  on  to  the  gravelled  pathway. 

A  little  titter  of  laughter  came  from  the  stairs ;  she 
heard  it  and  stopped. 

"Were  those  people  laughing  at  me?" 

"No.     Why?" 

"No  reason.  Only  I  could  kill  any  one  who  laughed 
at  me !" 

Carey  looked  at  her  through  the  darkness — her 
graceful  figure  bent  slightly  towards  him,  her  muslin 
skirt  held  high  above  her  white  satin  slippers.  "Do 
you  always  have  such  fiery  sentiments  ?"  he  was  drawn 
to  ask. 

"Oh,  I  feel  things,  yes !" 

"Then  I'm  afraid  you're  going  to  dislike  me,  Miss 
Costello!" 

There  was  nd  mistaking  that  his  reason  and  his 


THE   FLY  ON   THE   WHEEL  51 

will  forced  him  to  snatch  this  opportunity,  while  his 
inclination  stretched  out  detaining  hands ;  and  when 
such  a  conflict  is  waged  in  a  man's  mind,  his  expres- 
sion is  apt  to  be  unnecessarily  cold,  his  tone  unneces- 
sarily harsh. 

At  his  words,  Isabel's  head  went  up  again,  with  the 
action  of  a  young  deer  scenting  danger.  "Hate  you? 
Why.?" 

"Let  us  walk  on,  and  I'll  try  to  tell  you !" 

In  silence  they  turned  and  passed  down  the  avenue — 
she  brimming  with  uneasy  curiosity,  he  girding  him- 
self to  the  attack. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke.?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

He  took  out  a  cigarette,  and  lighted  it  with  the  care 
of  a  man  whose  thoughts  are  upon  other  matters ;  then 
he  threw  the  lighted  match  away  into  the  under- 
growth, where  it  flared  for  a  moment  and  went  out 
with  a  little  splutter. 

"Miss  Costello,  I  had  a  letter  the  other  day  from 
my  brother  Frank." 

She  stopped.     "From  Frank.?" 

"Yes.     He  wrote — and  told  me." 

"Told  you ?"     Her  voice  faltered. 

"Yes.     Told  me  that  you  and  he  are  engaged." 

"Oh,"  she  cried  naively,  "and  he  never  said  a  word 
to  me  about  having  written !  I  suppose  he  was  afraid 
you'd  be  angry.    Were  you  angry.?" 

Carey  tightened  the  buckles  of  his  armour.  "I  was !" 
he  said.     "Very  angry." 


52  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"And  why?"  Challenge  and  defiance  leaped  at  him 
suddenly.  He  could  feel  her  nerves  quiver  to  her 
thought. 

"Why.''  Oh,  because  a  sensible  man  can't  help  being 
angry  when  he  sees  an  act  of  folly ;  and  this  is  folly, 
you  know — utter  folly." 

Isabel's  muslin  dress  slipped  from  her  fingers  and 
trailed  upon  the  ground.     "Why.?" 

"Oh,  because  Frank  has  no  money,  no  influence — 
nothing  in  the  world  that  could  justify  his  marrying." 

She  looked  down.  "I  suppose  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad 
if  the  girl  he  wanted  to  marry  had  money  of  her  own  ?" 
she  asked  in  a  very  low  voice. 

Manlike,  he  walked  into  the  trap.  "It  certainly 
would  make  things  more  practicable." 

In  a  flash  she  was  round  upon  him  again,  her  pride 
and  anger  aflame,  her  sense  of  wounded  dignity  blaz- 
ing in  her  eyes.  "Oh,  I  see!  I  see!  I'm  not  good 
enough  for  your  brother!" 

Involuntarily  he  put  out  his  hand.  "I  never  said 
that !" 

She  gave  a  sharp  little  laugh.  "Didn't  you?  It 
sounded  very  like  it.  I'm  not  good  enough — not  rich 
enough  for  him !  He  must  wait  till  he  can  make  a  bet- 
ter match !"    With  a  little  gasp,  her  voice  broke. 

"But,  my  dear  child " 

"I'm  not  a  child!  I'm  twenty — and  old  enough  to 
manage  my  own  aff^airs.  And  I  can  tell  you  one 
thing ! — I  can  tell  you  one  thing,  and  that  is  that  I'd 
rather  die  now  than  break  off^  my  engagement!     I'd 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  53 

rather  die  now  than  break  it  off — even  if  I  didn't  care 
a  pin  for  Frank !" 

Carey  looked  at  her  passionate  face,  in  which  the 
eyes  gleamed  black  and  bright ;  and  again  he  was 
stirred,  as  though  a  current  of  electricity  had  coursed 
along  the  rut  of  his  commonplace  life. 

"Very  well !"  he  said.  "Then  I  suppose  we  declare 
war.f*    I  have  a  will  of  my  own,  too,  you  know !" 

She  met  his  eyes,  half  curious,  half  amused.  "Yes," 
she  said  with  defiant  seriousness.  "We  do.  We  de- 
clare war !" 

He  bent  his  head  in  acceptance  of  the  defiance ;  and, 
without  another  word,  turned  on  his  heel  and  began 
to  walk  slowly  back  towards  the  house,  leaving  her 
to  follow  as  she  pleased. 

There  was  no  chivalry  in  the  action ;  it  was  a  case 
of  the  elemental  man  following  his  instinct.  But  all 
human  drama  is  built  upon  the  primitive ;  and  the 
fewer  the  stage  accessories,  the  sooner  the  arrival  of 
the  psychological  moment. 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  noonday  sun  was  streaming  into  Isabel  Costello's 
bedroom  when  she  woke  to  the  world  on  the  day  fol- 
lowing the  dance.  Under  ordinary  conditions  one 
can  comfortably  lie  abed  in  Waterford  until  ten 
o'clock;  and  when  a  crushed  muslin  dress,  a  broken 
fan,  and  satin  slippers  with  soles  worn  shiny  from 
dancing,  testify  to  a  night  of  wild  activity,  there  is 
no  limit  to  the  thraldom  of  sleep. 

She  woke  slowly,  drawing  in  with  each  half-conscious 
breath  the  confused,  agreeable  sense  of  something 
vaguely  exhilarating  in  the  immediate  past.  Her  first 
action  was  to  raise  her  arms  above  her  head  and  lazily 
stretch  herself;  her  next,  to  sit  up,  shake  back  the 
great  plait  of  black  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her 
shoulder,  and  look  round  the  little  room  that  still  held 
the  unfamiliarity  of  new  surroundings.  The  curtains 
of  the  one  window  had  been  pulled  back,  and  the 
spring  breeze  blew  in,  carrying  with  it  the  scent  of 
wallflowers  from  the  small  front  garden.  There  is 
magic  in  the  scent  of  wallflowers — such  magic  as  lies 
in  spices  and  cedarwood — to  call  up  pictures  from 
the  treasure-house  of  imagination,  and  Isabel  closed 
her  eyes  to  the  ugly  Victorian  furniture  that  ham- 
pered the  little  room,  to  the  grey  wallpaper  that  even 
the  sun  could  not  fade  into  brightness,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment she  was  skimming  down  the  ballroom  at  Fair 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  55 

Hill,  tingling  again  with  the  joy  of  movement  and 
the  intoxication  of  success.  For  this  was  her  in- 
heritance, her  birthright — ^this  power  to  vibrate  hke 
a  fine  instrument  to  every  passing  touch ;  it  was  patent 
in  the  flash  of  her  smile — in  the  sudden  frown — in  the 
threat  and  the  caress  that  ousted  each  other  continu- 
ously in  the  depths  of  her  eyes.  She  was  Irish,  but 
Irish  with  the  blood  of  Spain  reliving  in  her  veins 
from  a  forgotten  generation.  And  of  such  a  com- 
pound, what  results.'*  Throw  oil  upon  water,  and  you 
induce  passivity ;  cast  it  upon  fire,  and  the  flames 
laugh  back  into  your  face !  She  was  a  Celt  in  imag- 
inativeness, in  fatalism,  in  pride ;  but  in  her  reckless- 
ness, in  her  vitality,  there  was  the  beat  of  warmer 
blood — the  call  of  a  race,  more  intense,  more  tem- 
pestuous than  Nature  ever  placed  upon  northern 
shores. 

Still  drinking  in  the  soft,  moist  air  filled  with  the 
subtle  scent,  she  dropped  back  upon  the  pillows,  lost 
in  retrospect ;  then  slowly  and  reluctantly  her  ej'^elids 
lifted,  as  her  quick  ear  caught  a  step  on  the  corridor 
outside. 

A  moment  later,  the  handle  of  her  door  was  turned, 
and  her  aunt.  Miss  Costello,  walked  into  the  room, 
carrj'ing  a  tray  on  which  rested  some  thick  pieces  of 
bread  and  butter,  a  brown  glazed  teapot,  a  milk  jug, 
and  a  cup  and  saucer.  She  was  a  thin,  dried-up  lit- 
tle woman  of  fifty-five,  with  a  brown  and  prematurely 
wrinkled  skin,  sharp  black  eyes,  and  wispy  black  hair. 
In  her  case,  the  alien  blood  had  run  to  asceticism  and 


56  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

a  nervous  unpractical  activity  that  had  worn  her  out 
before  middle  age.  She  came  up  to  her  niece's  bed 
now  with  a  haste  that  suggested  a  multitude  of  af- 
fairs claiming  her  attention,  and  set  down  the  tray  so 
quickly  that  everything  rattled. 

"Well,  Isabel!  Good-morrow!  What  hour  was  it 
at  all  when  you  got  in.'"' 

Isabel  put  up  her  mouth  very  graciously  for  her 
aunt's  kiss.  When  her  nature  was  submerged  in  pleas- 
ant or  exciting  recollection,  she  overflowed  with  affec- 
tion towards  the  world  at  large. 

"  'Twas  five  o'clock,  Aunt  Teresa." 

"Five!  What  on  earth  were  you  doing  till  five?  It 
must  have  been  broad  day !" 

"  'Twas,  nearly !"  Isabel  laughed  at  the  remembered 
pleasure. 

"Did  you  enjoy  yourself?" 

"Enjoy  myself!  I  never  in  all  my  life  enjoyed  my- 
self so  much." 

*'And  did  you  keep  the  car  the  whole  time?  I  won- 
der what  sort  of  a  bill  Loughlan  will  make  out !" 

"The  car?  Oh,  the  car  was  there  at  two,  but  they 
wouldn't  hear  of  my  going  away.  I  came  back  with 
the  Powers." 

Miss  Costello  looked  impressed,  and,  draM'ing  herself 
up,  smoothed  the  frill  of  the  black  alpaca  apron  she 
always  wore. 

"Oh,  indeed!  The  Powers!  That  was  very  nice 
for  you." 

"  'Twas,  in  a  way." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  57 

"Indeed  it  was  !  The  Powers  are  very  well  off ;  and 
Mrs.  Power  is  very  good  position.  She  was  a  daugh- 
ter of  Mr.  Knox-Nash  of  Gallybanagher." 

"So  she  told  me  while  we  were  driving  back !  But, 
Aunt  Teresa " 

"What.?" 

"Do  you  know  who  I  met  last  night?" 

"No.     Who.?" 

"Frank's  brother." 

"What !  Stephen  Carey  !  You  don't  say  so !  Why, 
I  thought' he  never  went  to  parties." 

Isabel's  thick  black  eyelashes  drooped  over  her  eyes. 
"Why  shouldn't  he  go  to  parties.?" 

"Oh,  because  he's  married  and  settled  down." 

"But  he's  not  old." 

*'He's  thirty-eight.     Did  he  dance  last  night.?" 

**0f  course  he  did!  Why  wouldn't  he  dance  when 
he's  able  to .?"    Her  eyes  flashed  up  to  her  aunt's  face. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!  Only  a  man  with  a  wife  and 
three  children  has  generally  something  better  to  do 
than  to  be  losing  his  night's  sleep.  Oh,  but  I  forgot ! 
There's  a  letter  for  you  from  Paris."  She  began  to 
search  hastily  in  her  apron  pocket.  "Ah,  here  'tis! 
I  knew  I  put  it  in !" 

Isabel  took  the  thin  foreign  envelope  and  laid  it  un- 
opened on  the  tray. 

Miss  Costello's  sharp  eyes  caught  the  movement. 
"Why  won't  you  read  it.?"  she  asked. 

"There's  time  enough !" 

*'0h,  is  that  the  way.?     In  my  young  days,  a  girl 


58  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

didn't  take  a  man's  letters  as  coolly  as  that.  But  per- 
haps I  ought  to  go !" 

Isabel  flashed  round  upon  her  angrily.  "As  if  I 
ever  thought  of  such  a  thing !  I  know  what's  in  the 
letter,  that's  all.  And  when  you  know  what's  in  a 
letter  you're  not  very  excited  to  open  it — at  least  I'm 
not !" 

Her  aunt's  face  looked  disturbed.  "Isabel,  you  don't 
tell  me  you're  getting  tired  of  him?" 

"I  didn't  tell  you  so." 

"Well,  I  only  hope  your  head  wasn't  turned  last 
night !" 

"What  on  earth  would  turn  my  head?" 

At  her  niece's  darkening  brow,  Miss  Costello  was 
thrown  into  nervous  confusion.  "My  dear  child,  noth- 
ing! Only  I  suppose  you  danced  with  all  the  young 
men — with — with  Owen  Power  and  the  rest  of  them." 

Isabel  laughed,  her  good-humour  restored  by  the 
absurdity  of  her  aunt's  idea.  "Oh,  no.  Aunt  Teresa ! 
Mr.  Power  didn't  turn  my  head.  I  don't  like  beauty 
men.  And,  look!  To  please  you,  I'll  open  Frank's 
letter !"  With  an  incredibly  swift  turn  of  the  fingers, 
she  tore  the  letter  open  and,  before  Miss  Costello 
could  remonstrate,  began  to  read  it  aloud. 

"Listen,  Aunt  Teresa!  'Dearest  Isabel, — Thanks 
for  your  nice  letter.  I  am  still  very  lonesome,  as  you 
can  understand ;  and  I  think  of  you  every  minute,  and 
wish  all  our  walks  and  talks  could  come  over  again. 
You  are  in  my  mind  always.  Do  you  often  think  of 
me? 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  59 

"  'I  have  written  to  my  brother  Stephen,  telling  him 
about  you,  but  I'm  afraid  he  is  not  very  well  satisfied, 
as  I  have  not  heard  from  him  yet.  Let  me  know  if 
you  meet  any  of  the  family.  It  worries  me  a  bit  not 
to  know  what  they  think  ;  but  Stephen  is  a  queer  chap, 
all  for  getting  on  in  life,  and  not  giving  way  to  senti- 
ment  ' " 

Isabel  stopped  suddenly  in  her  reading. 

"Is  that  all?  I  hope  there'll  be  no  unpleasantness 
with  the  Careys." 

"Oh,  that's  all!  It  goes  on  for  ages  in  the  same 
sort  of  way.     Aunt  Teresa?" 

"WTiat?" 

"What  has  Daisy  Norris  grown  up  like?  I  didn't 
see  her  last  night." 

"Daisy  Norris !  Oh,  she's  pretty — and,  of  course, 
she's  rich." 

"Rich!"  Isabel  tossed  her  head.  "As  if  that  mat- 
tered !" 

"It  mattered  a  good  deal  to  Stephen  Carey." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  because  he  had  a  hard  enough  life  of  it  in  the 
beginning.  Many  a  time  his  brothers  would  have 
been  in  the  workhouse  only  for  the  way  he  slaved. 
Your  poor  father  knew  it  through  the  bank." 

"And  he  married  Daisy  Norris  for  her  money?" 

Miss  Costello  looked  shocked.  No  Irishwoman  likes 
her  insinuations  put  into  blunt  speech.  "I  wouldn't 
say  that  to  anybody,  Isabel,  if  I  were  you.  There's 
no  doubt,  of  course,  that  Daisy's  money  wasn't  in  his 


60  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

way ;  but,  all  the  same,  'tis  an  ugly  thing  to  be  saying 
about  any  man,  that  he  married  for  money." 

"Well,  was  he  in  love  with  her?" 

"Oh,  how  do  I  know?  I  suppose  he  was.  'Tis  hard 
to  say  those  things." 

"And  was  she  satisfied?" 

"How  satisfied?" 

"Satisfied  with  that  sort  of  a  bargain?  I  know  I 
wouldn't  be." 

Miss  Costello  looked  at  her  niece  with  that  half -pa- 
thetic perplexity  that  the  old  so  often  bring  to  bear 
upon  their  study  of  the  young.  In  the  long  tale  of 
years  that  had  made  up  her  own  life  she  could  find  no 
key  to  the  nature  that  looked  at  her  from  Isabel's 
restless  eyes. 

"I  can't  make  you  out,  Isabel!"  she  said  at 
length. 

Isabel  turned  on  her  side,  and  the  plait  of  black  hair 
fell  again  over  her  shoulder.  "What  I  mean,  Aunt 
Teresa,  is  that  if  I  was  rich,  and  was  going  to  marry 
a  man  like  Mr.  Carey,  I'd  take  very  good  care  that  he 
didn't  marry  me  for  my  money  alone." 

Miss  Costello  smiled  uncertainly.  "Would  you  in- 
deed?   And  how  would  you  manage  it?" 

*'0h,  I  can't  tell  how,  but  I  would !"  Her  eyes  turned 
to  the  window,  and  then  flashed  back  again.  "What 
a  fool  she  must  have  been !"  she  added  suddenly ;  then, 
seeing  her  aunt's  shocked  face,  she  put  up  her  hand  in 
a  pretty  gesture  of  deprecation. 

"Auntie!     Auntie!     Don't  look  so   shocked!     It's 


THE   FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  61 

only  that  I  like  fighting  for  things,  and  I  can't  imag- 
ine other  people  not  liking  it  too." 

A  look  akin  to  horror  tightened  Miss  Costello's  thin 
lips.  "Don't,  Isabel,  dear !  'Tisn't  right  to  be  say- 
ing things  like  that.  Girls  in  Waterford  don't  talk 
like  that." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  it  wouldn't  be  thought  nice.  You'd  get  the 
name  of  being  odd." 

"But  why?" 

The  repetition  stung  Miss  Costello  to  annoyance. 
"Ah,  don't  be  silly,  child!  You  know  very  well  that 
a  girl  must  do  what  other  people  do — 'specially  if 
she  has  no  money.  Saying  queer  things  is  nearly  as 
bad  as  doing  them.  If  you  want  to  make  nice  friends, 
and  be  taken  up  by  people  richer  and  in  better  so- 
ciety than  yourself,  you'll  have  to  be  particular." 

"I  don't  care  whether  people  take  me  up  or  not.  I'm 
poor,  I  know ;  but  I'm  not  a  beggar  to  be  patronised." 

"Ah,  there  you  are  again!  Running  away  with 
every  word  I  utter !  I  never  said  you  were  a  beggar. 
I  don't  know  where  you  get  such  ugly  words." 

"Well,  they're  true  words,  aren't  they?" 

"Maybe!  But  it  won't  always  be  enough  for  you 
that  things  are  true.  I  tell  you  people  here  have  a 
certain  notion  of  what  other  people  ought  to  be,  and 
if  you  differ  from  that,  they  just  leave  you  where 
you  are." 

Isabel  considered  this  statement.  This,  then,  was 
what  she  had  returned  to  from  the  long  probation  of 


62  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

school  life,  first  in  Dublin  and  later  in  Paris !  This 
weighing  of  words !  This  bondage  in  a  free  world ! 
Her  restless  spirit  rose  up,  swiftly  antagonistic  and 
rebellious. 

"Aunt  Teresa,  Fll  never  do  it  !'*  she  exclaimed.  "I'll 
never — never  do  it !  I  can't  cut  out  my  life  on  a  sort 
of  pattern.  It  must  be  what  I  want  it  to  be,  or  noth- 
ing at  all.  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  died  last  night!  The 
world  is  horrid  the  day  after  things !"  She  put  her 
hands  over  her  face  in  an  impulse  of  despair  as  sud- 
den and  real  as  her  excitement  had  been. 

Miss  Costello  looked  frightened  and  flurried.  Life 
had  presented  a  new  and  unwelcome  problem  in  this 
grown-up  niece,  and  she  shrank  constitutionally  from 
responsibility. 

"Isabel,  dear !  Isabel,  dear — don't !"  she  said  help- 
lessly. "That's  not  the  way  to  be  looking  at  things 
at  all.  Say  a  prayer  to  Saint  Philomena  to  help  you 
to  be  sensible !  Be  a  good  child  now,  and  say  a  little 
prayer !" 

Isabel  dropped  her  hands,  showing  a  flushed  and  de- 
fiant face.  "I'm  not  a  child.  Aunt  Teresa !  And  I've 
given  up  Saint  Philomena:  she  never  does  anything 
for  me  now."  She  almost  trembled  at  her  own  temerity 
as  she  made  the  statement,  for  veneration  of  the  saints 
and  firm  belief  in  their  friendly  intercession  is  the 
very  breath  of  life  in  such  places  as  convent  schools ; 
and,  moreover,  she  knew  that  she  was  treading  sac- 
rilegiously upon  Miss  Costello's  most  sacred  ground. 
But  rebellion  was  alive  Avithin  her.    "I  don't  think  it's 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  63 

much  good  praying  against  things  like  that,"  she 
added.  "How  could  the  saints  have  time  to  bother 
whether  I'm  sensible  or  not?" 

"Isabel,  I'm  shocked  at  you!  If  your  poor  father 
could  only  hear  you !  A  man  that  said  his  rosary 
every  night  of  his  life !" 

The  demon  of  insubordination  stirred  in  Isabel, 
prompting  retaliation.  "If  he  hadn't  said  so  many 
prayers,"  she  said  irreverently,  "perhaps  he  might 
have  got  promotion  in  the  bank — and  left  me  better 
off." 

For  one  moment  Miss  Costello  looked  down  on  her 
in  speechless  anger;  then,  by  an  agitated  exercise  of 
the  control  her  religion  taught  her,  she  turned  and 
Avalked  out  of  the  room. 

As  the  door  closed,  Isabel's  bravado  evaporated. 
"Aunt  Teresa !"  she  called  suddenly.  "Aunt  Teresa, 
come  back  !     I'm  sorry  !" 

But  by  keeping  her  indignation  within  bounds.  Miss 
Costello  felt  that  she  had  done  enough.  At  the  sound 
of  her  name  in  Isabel's  quick,  emotional  voice,  she 
paused  on  the  corridor,  murmured  a  prayer  for  her 
niece's  spiritual  guidance,  and  silently  passed  down 
the  narrow  stairs. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Last  mass,  celebrated  at  twelve  o'clock,  is  the  im- 
portant event  of  Sunday  in  an  Irish  Catholic  town. 
Almost  medieval  in  its  pomp  and  pride,  it  presents 
a  curious  contrast  to  the  drab-hued  life  outside  the 
Church ;  for  within  the  precincts  there  is  colour  for  a 
dozen  pictures,  were  there  artists  to  paint  them. 
Splendid  vestments,  cloth  of  gold,  wax  lights,  and 
the  glory  of  flowers  are  blent  together  in  an  atmos- 
phere clouded  with  incense ;  while  over  the  heads  of 
the  congregation,  making  the  impression  audible,  the 
organ  whispers  or  thunders  the  majesty  of  the 
Eternal. 

It  was  Isabel  Costello's  fourth  Sunday  in  Waterford, 
and  in  the  bench  nearest  the  altar  she  sat  beside  Miss 
Costello,  who  might  have  posed  for  the  spirit  of  re- 
ligious fervour  as  she  knelt,  rigid  in  her  plain  black 
dress,  armed  with  long  brown  rosary  beads,  and  a 
ponderous  prayer-book. 

It  would  mislead  from  the  outset  to  say  that  Isabel 
was  religious ;  yet  it  would  be  overstating  the  case 
to  say  that  she  was  devoid  of  the  religious  sense. 
Every  tenet  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  she  ac- 
cepted with  unquestioning  belief,  because  to  her  imag- 
ination those  tenets  were  fixed  as  the  stars  in  heaven ; 
but  in  her  composition  there  was  nothing  of  the  as- 
cetic.     Pray   she   could — and   frequently   did — with 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  65 

a  passionate  fervour  of  supplication;  but  she  pre- 
ferred the  priedieu  of  an  oratory  to  the  bare  floor  of 
her  own  room,  and  her  moments  of  devotion  were  usu- 
ally inspired  from  without  rather  than  from  within. 

She  sat  now  in  the  clouded  atmosphere,  and  het 
thoughts,  freed  by  the  music  of  the  organ,  flowed  out 
upon  the  stream  of  her  fancy.  Her  prayer-book  lay 
open  before  her,  but  her  eyes  were  not  following  the 
prayers:  she  sat,  as  she  had  sat  a  hundred  times  in 
the  convent  chapel,  weaving  the  dream  that  all  youth 
weaves ;  but  with  this  diff^erence,  that  in  the  convent 
chapel  the  dreams  had  been  tinged  with  the  pearl  and 
silver  of  dawning  things,  and  now  the  light  of  a  wak- 
ing world  was  touching  them  to  rose  and  gold.  There 
was  life  to  be  lived  now !  She  no  longer  stood  expec- 
tant in  a  realm  of  ideals.  Vaguely  moved  by  these 
imaginings,  she  stood  up  and  knelt  down,  mechanically 
noting  the  chanting  of  the  priests,  the  silences  of  the 
choir,  and  the  fresh  bursts  of  music  from  the  organ, 
while  her  mind  travelled  back  over  the  ground  she 
had  covered,  from  this  mass  in  the  Waterford  cathe- 
dral to  the  day  in  Paris  when  love  had  confronted 
her  in  the  guise  of  the  first  man  she  had  known.  For 
it  was  love — ^the  image,  the  abstraction — that  had 
broken  down  her  defences  on  the  evening  that  she  had 
stood  by  the  window  of  the  hotel  salon  with  Frank 
Carey,  and  looked  down  into  the  narrow  street,  where 
the  asphalt  shone  like  ice  in  the  white  light  of  the 
electric  lamps,  and  the  stumbling  of  the  cab-horses 
and  the  cracking  of  whips  rose  mingling  with  excited 


66  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

street  cries.  There  had  been  a  sense  of  fate  in  the 
air  that  evening.  She  remembered  looking  across  at 
the  opposite  houses  and  thinking  how  like  they  were 
to  painted  houses  upon  the  stage,  with  their  flat  fronts 
and  shuttered  windows ;  then  that  first  recollection  was 
rent  by  the  newer,  stronger  memory  of  Frank's  arm 
thrust  suddenly  about  her  waist,  and  Frank's  unex- 
pected kiss  upon  her  cheek.  Rough,  untempered 
love-making  it  would  have  been  to  the  mind  of  the 
experienced,  but  to  the  girl  released  a  week  before 
from  a  convent  school  it  had  seemed  the  knowledge 
of  life;  and  Frank  Carey,  the  freckled,  sandy -haired 
boy,  had  taken  on  the  glamour  of  romance  in  that  mo- 
ment of  daring. 

Reflected  in  the  mirror  of  her  thoughts,  he  had  ap- 
peared before  her  in  that  moment  as  the  knight  storm- 
ing the  castle  of  his  lady-love.  And  now  ?  The  organ 
spoke  low,  dropping  to  the  note  of  question,  and  her 
cheeks  reddened  as  though  human  lips  had  propounded 
a  riddle.  Now.''  She  looked  at  the  figures  of  the 
three  priests  officiating  at  the  mass  that  was  drawing 
to  its  close,  and  suddenly  the  vision  of  the  avenue  at 
Fair  Hill  rose  up  before  her  mind — ^the  avenue  with 
the  chestnut  buds  silhouetted  against  the  night  sky 
and  the  first  stars  dappling  the  darkness. 

The  blessing  was  given,  and  the  congregation  stood 
up  for  the  last  gospel.  Isabel  rose  with  the  rest,  and 
knelt  again  for  the  final  prayers ;  then  at  last,  the 
service  ended,  the  three  priests  disappeared  into  the 
mysterious   regions   behind   the   altar,   the   organist 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  67 

struck  the  first  chord  of  the  solemn  march,  and  the 
stream  of  people  began  to  pour  into  the  aisle. 

It  was  some  time  before  Miss  Costello  had  finished 
her  private  devotions,  and  the  church  was  fast  empty- 
ing when  she  and  Isabel  rose  to  depart.  They  were 
almost  the  last  to  emerge  from  the  church  and  step 
out  upon  the  flagged  space  guarded  by  railings  that 
shuts  the  cathedral  from  the  street  and  makes  a 
tempting  loitering  place  for  those  whose  duty  lies 
behind  them.  Isabel's  first  impression  as  she  came 
out  into  the  light  was  of  a  crowd  broken  up  into  little 
knots  of  two  and  three,  and  of  a  number  of  voices 
exchanging  conflicting  greetings ;  her  next,  the  con- 
sciousness of  Miss  Costello  pulling  at  her  sleeve  with 
nervous  anxiety. 

"Isabel!  Isabel!  Don't  you  see  Mrs.  Power  salut- 
ing you?" 

Isabel  turned  sharply.  "No,  I  don't.  Aunt  Teresa  I 
Where?" 

"Over  there,  by  the  steps.  Look  now !  She's  smil- 
ing at  you." 

Isabel  turned,  half  reluctantly,  in  the  direction  in- 
dicated, and  then  the  blood  rose  hotly  to  her  face, 
for  Mrs.  Power  was  the  centre  of  a  party  formed  by 
Mary  Norris  and  Daisy  and  Stephen  Carey. 

"Go  on,  Isabel!"  urged  Miss  Costello;  "she  wants 
to  speak  to  you.  You  ought  to  thank  her  for  driving 
you  home  that  night ;  'twould  be  only  polite." 

Isabel  didn't  seem  to  hear  her  aunt's  persuasion,  and 
it  is  doubtful  whether  the  pleadings  would  have  met 


68  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

with  any  response  had  not  Mrs.  Power  made  a  for- 
ward movement,  and  settled  the  question  for  herself. 

"Ah,  my  dear  child,  how  are  you.''  I  haven't  seen 
you  since  the  dance !"  she  said,  pushing  a  way  through 
the  intervening  people,  and  extending  a  friendly 
hand.  "What  have  you  been  doing  these  weeks  past-f* 
And  here's  your  aunt,  too !  How  are  you.  Miss  Cos- 
tello?  You  ought  to  have  been  at  Fair  Hill  that 
night:  you  really  ought.  There  were  no  two  opin- 
ions about  it,  your  niece  was  the  belle.  She  could  have 
filled  her  programme  twice  over;  even  my  own  hus- 
band lost  his  heart.  I  can  tell  you  I  was  quite  jeal- 
ous." She  gave  a  pleasant  laugh,  drawing  the 
girl  into  her  favour  with  a  motherly  tone  and 
glance. 

INIeanwhile  a  moment  of  indecision  had  fallen  on  the 
little  group  she  had  deserted.  With  many  misgivings 
Daisy  was  asking  herself  whether  she  should  or  should 
she  not  make  advances  towards  this  possible  disturber 
of  her  husband's  projects.''  But  as  she  hesitated  be- 
tween uncertainty  as  to  Carey's  views  and  the  instinc- 
tive desire  to  stand  in  with  Mrs.  Power  in  all  social 
matters,  Stephen  decided  the  point  by  stepping  for- 
ward and  greeting  Isabel. 

"How  are  you,  Miss  Costello?" 

Isabel  started  at  the  sound  of  her  name ;  and  turn- 
ing, gave  her  hand  in  a  silence  born  of  sudden  and 
uncontrollable  shyness. 

"How  are  you.'"'  he  said  again,  a  little  awkwardly. 
"We  haven't  seen  you  since  the  dance.     Let  me  in- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  69 

troduce  my  wife !  I  think  you  know  my  sister-in- 
law  !" 

For  a  swift  second  Daisy  looked  at  Isabel,  Isabel  at 
Daisy,  appraising  each  other  sweepingly,  as  women 
do;  then  Daisy  held  out  her  hand. 

"How  are  you?"  she  said.  "We  used  to  know  each 
other  long  ago.  I  remember  you  as  well  as  anything 
at  a  children's  party  at  the  Burkes'  when  I  was  ten; 
and  you  cried  because  I  fell  over  you  in  'Blindman's 
Buff.'  " 

"Oh,  yes !  I  remember  too."  Isabel  laughed.  "I 
was  only  five,  but  I  remember  as  well  as  an3i;hing 
that  you  and  your  sister  had  blue  dresses  and  fair 
plaits  tied  with  blue.     I  envied  you  fearfully." 

Daisy  echoed  the  laugh,  and  Mary  Norris  strolled 
slowly  forward.  "How  are  you?"  she  said,  using  the 
inevitable  greeting.  "How  did  you  enjoy  the  dance? 
You  seemed  to  be  having  a  grand  time,  as  far  as  I 
could  see." 

"The  dance?  Oh,  'twas  splendid !  I  loved  it !"  Isa- 
bel looked  straight  in  front  of  her,  conscious  that 
Carey's  eyes  were  watching  her  with  half -unwilling 
interest. 

"And  who  did  you  like  best?"  Try  as  she  might, 
Mary  could  not  hide  the  half -malicious  lifting  of  the 
comer  of  her  mouth. 

Isabel  turned.  "Oh,  old  Mr.  Burke,  of  course !"  she 
said  with  native  readiness. 

Carey  laughed.  "Good !  Take  my  advice,  Miss  Cos- 
tello.     Don't  let  them  draw  you!" 


70  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Mary's  smile  deepened  as  she  saw  Isabel  colour ;  and 
Isabel,  conscious  both  of  the  smile  and  of  her  own 
blush,  glanced  round  confusedly.  "We — we  ought 
to  be  going,"  she  said.     "Where's  Aunt  Teresa  .P" 

"Here !  Here,  my  dear,  gossiping  with  me !  You're 
right  to  remind  us  how  idle  we  are.  Daisy,  I'll  run 
in  with  you  to  Lady  Lane  for  a  minute."  Mrs.  Power 
wheeled  round  upon  them  with  her  large,  placid  per- 
sonality and  homely  smile. 

Daisy  made  u  hasty  little  gesture  of  pleasure  and 
gratification.  "Oh,  do!  Do,  Mrs.  Power!"  Then, 
as  she  saw  Mrs.  Power  look  promptingly  towards  Isa- 
bel and  Miss  Costello,  she  added  in  a  less  enthusiastic 
voice — "And  you.  Miss  Costello !  Won't  you  come  in 
for  a  minute  too.^"' 

Miss  Costello  looked  confused.  "It's — it's  very  kind 
of  you,  Mrs.  Carey,  I'm  sure !     Very  kind  of  3'^ou !" 

*'Only  we  must  go  straight  home,"  Isabel  added 
promptly.  Swift  in  the  gaining  of  an  impression  as 
in  the  prompting  of  an  instinct,  she  had  heard  the 
hesitancy  and  felt  the  doubt  in  Daisy's  mind. 

Miss  Costello  looked  nervous,  and  Daisy  slightly  of- 
fended— "Oh,  of  course  if  you  are  busy "   she 

said. 

"We  are.  We  promised  to  be  back.  Didn't  we,  Aunt 
Teresa?" 

At  her  niece's  glance  poor  Miss  Costello  wavered 
hopelessly.  "We  are.  We  did,"  she  said.  "It's  very 
kind  of  you,  but " 

"Good-bye!    You  see  we  must  go.     Good-bye,  Mrs. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  71 

Power !  Good-bye !"  In  turn  Isabel  shook  hands  with 
Daisy,  Mary,  Mrs.  Power  and,  last  of  all,  with  Carey. 
For  the  one  fleeting  second  that  her  hand  rested  in 
his,  she  glanced  up  at  him — a  quick,  bright  look  dif- 
ficult to  read ;  then,  leaving  her  aunt  to  follow  as  best 
she  could,  she  turned  and  walked  out  into  the  street. 

As  Miss  Costello  beat  a  hurried  retreat,  Daisy,  whose 
eyes  were  upon  Isabel's  straight,  lithe  figure,  spoke 
her  thoughts.  "She's  queer,  isn't  she,'"'  she  said  in 
a  slow,  meditative  way. 

"Queer.'*"  Mary  cried.  "I  think  she's  the  coolest 
person  I  ever  met  in  my  life.  I  can  tell  you  I  wouldn't 
hke  to  be  in  the  aunt's  shoes." 

Mrs.  Power  put  her  hand  on  Mary's  arm.  "Ah,  now, 
Mary,  make  excuses !    What  is  she  but  a  child  1" 

"A  very  wide-awake  child,  Mrs.  Power!" 

"Ah,  no,  Mary !    I  don't  think  so." 

"Don't  you.-*  Wait  and  see!"  Mary  turned,  and 
began  to  make  her  own  way  through  the  crowd  of 
loiterers. 

"And  you,  Stephen?  What  do  you  think  of  her? 
I  like  a  man's  opinion  on  my  own  sex." 

Carey  turned,  roused  from  a  brown  study.  "I?"  he 
said.  "Oh,  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  women, 
Mrs.  Power." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Meanwhile,  Isabel  and  her  aunt  were  making  their 
way  up  the  hill  that  led  to  New  Town,  where  Miss 
Costello's  small  house  stood  behind  its  patch  of  gar- 
den. For  several  minutes  after  they  had  parted  with 
the  Careys  neither  of  them  spoke ;  but  at  last,  as  their 
goal  drew  within  sight,  Isabel  felt  her  sentiments  no 
longer  to  be  controlled. 

"Aunt  Teresa,"  she  said  suddenly,  "I  don't  know — 
I  really  don't  know  how  you  can  go  on  like  that." 

Miss  Costello  half  paused  in  her  hurried  walk. 
"Like  what  .f"'  she  demanded. 

"Oh,  not  having  a  bit  of  pride!  Not  seeing  when 
people  don't  want  you!" 

"Don't  want  rae?  But  the  Careys  wanted  us — Daisy 
Carey  herself  asked  us." 

Isabel  tossed  her  head  contemptuously.  "Yes.  Asked 
us  because  Mrs.  Power  was  nice  to  us — and  IMrs. 
Power  is  good  position.  Do  you  think  she'd  have 
done  it  except  for  that  ?     Indeed  she  wouldn't !" 

Poor  Miss  Costello  was  crushed,  nevertheless  she 
made  a  fight  for  her  own  attitude.  "Well,  I  think 
you  ought  to  have  gone  in,  all  the  same.  You'll  have 
to  be  friendly  sooner  or  later,  if  you're  to  be  one  of 
the  family." 

"I  may  never  be  one  of  the  family!'* 

"Isabel !" 


THP  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  73 

*'0h,  well,  I  didn't  mean  that." 

Miss  Costello  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  for  even  this 
small  mercy.  "Of  course  not !"  she  said,  to  reassure 
herself.  "Of  course  not.  Not  when  you  can  count  on 
Frank.     I'm  sure  the  poor  fellow  is  devoted  enough !" 

Once  more  Isabel's  chin  was  contemptuously  raised. 
"Would  you  like  to  be  going  to  marry  a  'poor  fel- 
low'.?" 

"You're  very  absurd,  child!  You  know  I  didn't 
mean  it  like  that.     I'm  sure  Frank  is  very  talented." 

"Talented,  indeed !  I'll  tell  you  what  Frank  is.  He's 
just  a  shadow  of  his  brother.  Only  for  his  brother  he 
wouldn't  be  there  at  all.  I  found  that  out  since  I  came 
home." 

"The  shadow  of  his  brother.?  Indeed,  I  don't  agree 
with  you.  I  think  Frank  Carey  has  plenty  of  clever- 
ness of  his  own;  and  I'd  much  prefer  him  myself  to 
Stephen.    He's  a  great  deal  pleasanter  in  his  manner." 

"Weak  people  are  nice  to  everybody,  because  they 
haven't  courage  to  be  an3rthing  else !" 

Isabel  made  this  pronouncement  as  they  were  passing 
through  the  garden-gate,  and,  having  made  it,  she 
stepped  aside  into  the  small  grass-plot,  to  gather  a 
handful  of  violets,  while  Miss  Costello  hurried  into 
the  house,  where  the  one  servant  of  the  establishment 
was  awaiting  her  superintendence  in  the  cooking  of 
the  early  dinner. 

The  flowers  gathered,  Isabel  made  her  own  way  in- 
doors, passing  up  the  narrow  stairs  to  her  cramped 
bedroom.     Her  first  action  on  entering  the  room  was 


74  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

to  cross  to  the  dressing-table,  peer  closely  into  the 
mirror  at  her  own  reflection,  and,  taking  off  her  hat, 
to  throw  it  carelessly  on  the  bed. 

She  could  not  have  explained  her  mood,  but  she  felt 
restless  and  half  angry.  Nothing  definite  had  hap- 
pened to  displease  her,  but  it  was  precisely  this  nega- 
tive condition  of  circumstances  that  left  her  dis- 
turbed. She  would  have  everything  fire  or  sun — 
battle  or  ecstasy ;  the  calm,  the  uneventful  she  ban- 
ished from  her  toleration  with  an  unsparing  definite- 
ness. 

Having  thrown  her  hat  aside,  she  lingered  for  a 
while  by  the  dressing-table,  her  fingers  drumming  on 
the  white  cloth  that  covered  its  mahogany  surface,  her 
eyes  dark  and  brooding;  then,  forced  to  action  by 
some  prompting  thought,  she  slowly  opened  one  of 
the  table  drawers  and  drew  forth  a  blotter  fiUed  with 
odd  sheets  of  note-paper  and  envelopes  of  varying 
sizes;  and  unearthing  a  pen  and  a  pot  of  ink  from 
some  dark  recess,  placed  the  whole  collection  upon 
the  table. 

Her  next  move  was  to  pull  forward  a  chair  and  seat 
herself  upon  the  edge  of  it,  and  this  action  was  typical 
of  her  mood:  the  fact  that  she  did  not  approach  her 
task  squarely  showed  that  it  was  unwelcome,  for  to 
the  things  that  were  congenial  she  went  straight  as 
a  bird  in  its  flight,  heart  and  soul,  mind  and  body — 
one  undivided  impulse. 

With  her  neck  uncomfortably  twisted  and  her  elbow 
resting  on  the  table,  she  dipped  the  pen  into  the  ink. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  75 

made  a  blot  on  the  white  cloth,  and,  drawing  forward 
a  sheet  of  paper,  wrote  the  words  "Dearest  Frank." 

For  a  long  time  she  remained  looking  at  this  accom- 
plished work  and  striving  to  connect  it  with  herself. 
She  looked  at  the  words  and  wondered — looked  at 
them  again,  and  wondered  again.  Why  had  the  writ- 
ing of  a  letter  become  a  thing  so  irksome?  She  re- 
called her  first  note  to  Frank — ^how  the  blood  had 
flooded  her  cheeks  at  the  mere  fact  of  putting  a  man's 
name  upon  paper — how  every  shy  and  halting  ex- 
pression had  meant  a  separate  sensation.  Why  had 
all  this  changed?  Why  had  the  excitement,  the 
glamour  fallen  from  the  whole  idea,  as  colours  might 
fade  from  a  picture?  A  wave  of  impatience  trembled 
across  her  mind.  She  felt  angry — she  felt  cruel. 
Suddenly  seizing  the  paper,  she  tore  the  letter  in  two, 
as  though  by  the  act  she  could  inflict  some  punishment 
upon  the  unconscious  author  of  her  disaffection ;  then 
with  equal  suddenness  she  lifted  her  head  in  a  listen- 
ing attitude,  for  her  quick  ears  had  caught  the  sound 
of  footsteps  on  the  little  gravel-path,  footsteps  that 
were  followed  almost  immediately  by  a  knock  on  the 
hall  door. 

Visitors  were  few  and  far  between  at  the  little  house 
at  New  Town,  and  involuntarily  she  rose  and  ran  to 
the  window.  She  pulled  back  the  starched  and  torn 
lace  curtain,  and  leant  forward  curiously;  then  as 
precipitately  she  drew  back  again,  all  the  anger,  all 
the  waywardness  gone  from  her  face,  every  feature 
lighted  up  with  sudden  interest. 


76  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

She  sat  down  on  the  side  of  her  bed,  her  hands 
clasped,  her  heart  beating  quickly,  as  she  heard  the 
slipshod  steps  of  the  servant  shuffle  down  the  hall, 
heard  the  door  open,  and  heard  the  visitor's  peremp- 
tory demand  for  Miss  Costello.  Next,  she  was  con- 
scious of  two  pairs  of  feet  going  down  the  passage 
and  of  the  shutting  of  the  parlour  door,  followed  by 
a  perfectly  audible  and  flurried  explanation  between 
the  servant  and  Miss  Costello  in  the  back  regions  of 
the  house;  then  lastly,  she  distinguished  her  aunt's 
steps  on  the  creaking  stairs,  and  a  moment  later  saw 
her  excited  face  round  the  corner  of  the  bedroom  door. 

"Isabel !"  she  exclaimed,  almost  before,  she  had  en- 
tered the  room.     "Isabel,  do  you  know  who's  below?" 

Isabel  sprang  to  her  feet.  "S-sh,  Aunt  Teresa! 
He'll  hear  you." 

"It's  Stephen  Carey." 

"I  know." 

"What  on  earth  can  he  want?  What  do  you  think 
he  can  want?" 

"How  do  I  know!"  Isabel  hid  the  light  that  was 
dancing  in  her  eyes. 

"Am  I  an  awful  object?  I  was  just  in  the  middle 
of  making  the  apple-dumpling.  It's  a  queer  hour,  in- 
deed, for  a  person  to  be  calling ;  he  might  have  waited 
till  three  o'clock !"  She  came  forward  into  the  room, 
her  hair  a  little  more  untidy  than  usual,  a  check  apron 
covering  her  black  dress,  and  a  dab  of  flour  on  her 
cheek  testifying  to  her  recent  labours.  "Let  me  look 
at  myself !"  she  added,  going  up  to  the  dressing-table. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  77 

and  proceeding  without  permission  to  smooth  her 
hair  with  Isabel's  brush. 

At  any  other  moment  this  would  have  called  forth 
an  indignant  protest  from  the  owner,  but  Isabel  was 
too  excited  now  to  give  heed  to  the  niceties  of  prop- 
erty, and,  coming  forward  graciously,  she  even  helped 
to  pull  down  Miss  Costello's  sleeves,  and  herself  un- 
tied the  apron  strings  and  dusted  the  flour  from  her 
face. 

"Will  I  do  now.''  I  declare  I  am  as  flurried  as  any- 
thing, being  called  away  like  that  in  the  middle  of  the 
dumpling!  I  only  hope  Lizzie  will  be  able  to  go  on 
with  it." 

To  this  string  of  words  Isabel  paid  not  the  slightest 
attention;  but,  having  made  her  aunt  presentable, 
pushed  her  unceremoniously  towards  the  door. 

But  Miss  Costello  refused  to  cross  the  threshold. 
"You'll  come  with  me,  won't  you?  Oh,  Isabel,  you'll 
come  with  me?" 

Isabel  looked  down,  coquetting  with  herself.  "I  don't 
know." 

"Oh,  Isabel,  do!     Be  a  good  girl,  and  do!" 

"Very  well,  I'll  come  after  you." 

"Ah,  come  now !" 

"No;  afterwards." 

"Very  well!    Will  I  do?" 

"You're  splendid." 

"Well,  don't  be  long!"  She  nodded  a  last  injunc- 
tion; and,  still  full  of  nervous  trepidation,  made  her 
way  downstairs. 


78  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Isabel  stood  on  the  tiptoe  of  interest  as  she  heard  her 
descend  the  stairs  and  open  the  parlour  door,  but  her 
strained  ears  caught  only  the  confused  murmur  of  a 
greeting,  followed  by  the  closing  of  the  door;  and 
at  this  sign  of  privacy  she  turned  back  into  the  room, 
and  for  the  second  time  since  her  return  from  mass 
walked  up  to  the  mirror  and  studied  her  appearance. 
This  time  the  face  that  looked  back  into  her  own  was 
alive  and  joyous,  and  as  she  brushed  her  ruffled  hair, 
the  sense  of  power  and  energy  rose  within  her. 

Money  was  scarce  in  the  small  household,  and  in 
consequence  her  wardrobe  was  of  the  scantiest ;  but 
with  the  unquenchable  instinct  of  adornment,  she  took 
a  bow  of  cherry-coloured  tulle  from  a  drawer  and 
pinned  it  at  the  neck  of  her  pink  muslin  dress.  As 
she  was  in  the  act  of  arranging  it,  steps  sounded 
again  upon  the  stairs,  this  time  awkward  and  shuf- 
fling, and  presently  a  knock  fell  timidly  on  the  door. 

"What  is  it  ?    Come  in !"  she  called. 

The  door  opened  an  inch  or  two,  and  the  face  of 
Lizzie  the  servant  appeared  at  the  aperture. 

"Miss  Isabel,"  she  gasped,  "Miss  Costello  is  wantin' 
you  below  in  the  parlour;  and  she  says  you're  to  be 
as  quick  as  you  can."  Lizzie  was  newly  from  the 
country,  and  as  yet  raw  material. 

"All  right!  Only  I  wish  you'd  come  into  a  room, 
Lizzie,  when  a  person  tells  you  to." 

"I  will,  miss !  Yes,  miss !"  Lizzie  backed  incon- 
tinently down  the  stairs,  overcome  by  embarrassment. 

Isabel,  very  nearly  as  agitated  as  the  maid,  put  an- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  79 

other  pin  into  the  tulle  bow  and  hurried  across  the 
room  and  out  into  the  corridor;  but  pride  would  not 
allow  her  to  run  down  the  stairs,  though  her  feet 
danced  to  be  off,  and  she  reached  the  parlour  door 
with  a  very  dignified  demeanour. 

As  she  turned  the  handle  and  entered,  however,  a 
little  of  the  dignity  evaporated,  for  the  scene  was  not 
quite  what  she  had  anticipated.  At  the  mahogany 
table  that  wellnigh  filled  the  little  room,  Miss  Cos- 
tello  and  Carey  were  seated  upon  two  of  the  stiff 
horsehair  chairs  that  had  come,  with  Isabel  herself, 
as  a  legacy  from  the  improvident  Dan.  Carey  was 
sitting  bolt  upright,  looking  resolute  and  uncomfort- 
able; while  his  companion,  in  a  condition  of  obvious 
perturbation,  was  nervously  plaiting  and  unplaiting 
the  fringe  of  the  table-cloth. 

As  Isabel  appeared,  Carey  rose.  "I  suppose  you  are 
rather  surprised  to  see  me  again,"  he  began. 

Isabel  said  nothing:  if  there  was  a  difficult  moment 
to  be  faced,  she  decided  that  he  must  bear  the  brunt 
of  it. 

Miss  Costello  stirred  agitatedly  in  her  seat.  "I'm 
afraid  Mr.  Carey  hasn't  come  on  a  very  pleasant  mis- 
sion, Isabel." 

"No.  No,  I'm  afraid  I  haven't.  But  won't  you  sit 
down  ?" 

In  the  same  determined  silence  Isabel  accepted  the 
chair  he  drew  forward  for  her;  and  resting  her  el- 
bows on  the  table,  clasped  her  hands  under  her  chin. 

Carey,  still  obviously  ill  at  ease,  dropped  back  into 


80  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

his  own  seat  and  made  a  fresh  essay.  "I  hadn't  in- 
tended to  do  this — ^to  come  here  like  this,"  he  said; 
"but  I  realised  in  the  last  three  weeks  that  it  mightn't 
be  very  easy  to  find  an  opportunity  of  seeing  you,  and 
so  I  decided  to — ^to  make  the  plunge." 

Isabel  bent  her  head  in  acknowledgment  that  the 
words  were  meant  for  her,  and  Miss  Costello  gave  a 
fluttering  sigh. 

The  difficulties  placed  in  his  way  seemed  to  brace 
Stephen,  for  he  suddenly  cast  aside  his  conciliatory 
tactics,  and  made  a  headlong  rush  for  his  point.  "Of 
course  you  know  why  I  have  come,"  he  said. 

Isabel,  offended  by  this  bluntness,  opened  her  eyes. 
"How  could  I  know.?" 

At  the  little  touch  of  artificiality  he  lost  patience. 
"Oh,  don't  make  light  of  the  matter !"  he  said  quickly. 
"Frank  is  serious  to  me." 

In  an  instant  Isabel  was  as  angrily  sincere  as  he. 

"And  do  you  think  he's  not  serious  to  me  ?  Have  you 
any  right  to  suppose  that.?" 

"Not  serious,  indeed!"  Miss  Costello  murmured. 
"When  I  think  of  the  prayers  I  have  said  and  the 
candles  I  have  lighted,  that  we  might  all  be  guided  to 
do  right!" 

Isabel  gave  her  a  withering  glance  and  turned  again 
upon  Carey.  "After  all,  it  must  be  more  serious  to 
me  than  to  anybody " 

"Except  Frank  himself." 

"How  do  you  mean.?" 

"Well,  I  mean  that  marriage  must  be  more  impor- 


THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL  81 

tant  to  a  man  than  to  a  woman — not  in  the  senti- 
mental sense,  perhaps,  but  in  the  ordinary,  practical, 
everyday  sense.  After  all,  if  a  woman  likes  to  make 
a  poor  marriage  she  does  it  with  her  eyes  open  and  she 
finds  compensations ;  it's  the  man  who  does  it  bhndly, 
and  it's  the  man  who  sinks  under  it.  I  know  what 
I'm  talking  about." 

"Some  of  the  happiest  couples  have  been  poor!" 
ejaculated  Miss  Costello.  "Look  at  my  poor  brother !" 

Carey  refrained  from  making  use  of  the  weapon 
placed  in  his  hands,  and  merely  said:  "Don't  forget 
that  your  brother  is  dead.  Miss  Costello,  and  that 
death  casts  a  sort  of  glamour  over  things." 

She  heaved  a  sigh.  "Ah,  Dan  was  a  saint!"  she 
murmured  to  herself.     "A  saint !" 

"But  poor  people  can  be  happy,"  Isabel  cried. 
"Poor  people  can  be  happy.  I'd  rather  be  a  beggar 
ten  times  over,  than  make  what  they  call  here  a  'good 
match.'  I  think  it's  much  more  to  be  despised  to  sell 
yourself  as  if  you  were  a  sheep  or  a  horse  than  to 
marry  because  you  care." 

"Isabel!  Isabel!" 

"Be  quiet.  Aunt  Teresa!  I  will  say  what  I  think. 
You  hate  me  to  marry  Frank  because  I  have  no 
money ;  but  if  I  was  rich  you'd  let  us  get  married  to- 
morrow, even  if  I  was  lame  or  blind.  You  think  of 
nothing  but  money — money  and  position.  You  live 
in  a  little,  little  world,  where  if  people  ever  do  feel 
anything,  they're  afraid  to  say  so!" 

Carey,    watching    the    expressions    darkening    and 


82  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

lighting  her  face,  leant  suddenly  across  the  table. 
"Miss  Costello,"  he  said,  "I  thought  exactly  the  same 
as  that,  when  I  was  your  age.  When  I  was  twenty 
I  thought  Waterford  the  narrowest  hole  on  God's 
earth,  and  myself  the  one  man  who  was  going  to  step 
outside  it.  But — "  he  gave  a  quick,  despondent  shrug 
of  the  shoulders — "I  went  under  when  the  time  came. 
I  went  under  like  the  rest.  There's  a  big  machine 
called  expediency,  and  we  are  its  slaves.  We  oil  it 
and  polish  it  and  keep  it  running,  every  man  and 
woman  of  us ;  and  if  by  any  chance  one  of  us  puts 
his  hands  behind  his  back  and  says  he  won't  feed  the 
monster  any  more,  what  happens.?  Does  the  machine 
stop .''  Not  at  all !  It's  the  deserter  who  goes  under ; 
the  machine  roars  on  louder  than  before.  It's  only 
by  pandering  to  it  that  we  live ;  and  the  man  who  has 
oiled  his  own  particular  wheel  is  in  duty  bound  to 
see  that  those  dependent  on  him  learn  to  oil  theirs. 
This  brother  of  mine  belongs  to  me:  I've  fathered 
him  and  trained  him  and  educated  him,  and  I'll  see 
him  have  a  fair  start.  You  must  understand  my 
position !  You  must  see  my  point  of  view !  I'm  writ- 
ing to  Frank  to-night ;  let  me  tell  him  that  you  have 
accepted  my  decision?" 

Isabel  kept  her  hands  obstinately  locked,  her  eyes 
obstinately  lowered. 

"Let  me  write  that  to-night.''  Frank  isn't  a  boy 
with  a  great  deal  of  character;  he's  not  the  boy  to 
make  a  way  for  himself." 

"He  cares  for  me." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  83 

"I  have  no  doubt  he  does.  But  no  romantic  man 
ever  made  a  fortune." 

Her  eyes  blazed  again.  "I  don't  want  a  fortune. 
I  told  you  that." 

"I  see !  Then  it's  no  use  ?  The  sensible  thing  doesn't 
appeal  to  you?" 

"No,  it  does  not.     I  hate  the  sensible  thing." 

"All  right !  I'm  sorry !  You  force  me  to  do  what 
I  don't  like  to  do." 

"What's  that.?"     Isabel  stood  up. 

"You  force  me  to  tell  Frank  that  unless  he  breaks 
off  this  engagement  I  must  stop  supplies.  It's  very 
unpleasant,  but  there's  nothing  else  for  it.  I've  done 
what  I  could."     He  rose  rather  stiffly  from  his  chair. 

Isabel  paled,  then  reddened  violently.  "You — you 
would  do  that.'^"  she  said. 

"For  his  own  good,  yes.  I  told  you  the  matter  was 
serious  to  me." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Carey,  you  wouldn't !"  cried  Miss  Costello. 
"You  surely  wouldn't!  Think  of  the  poor  fellow's 
feelings !  Young  people  will  be  young  people,  you 
know !" 

"Stop,  Aunt  Teresa !  Mr.  Carey,  do  you  think  that 
when  you  write  to  Frank,  he'll  break  off  our  engage- 
ment.?" 

Carey  hesitated.     "Frank  is  not  strong-minded." 

"That  means  you  do  think  it.?  You  think  he'll  give 
me  up  at  a  word  from  you.?" 

"Certainly  not  that.  But  he  is  dependent  on  me; 
he  hasn't  a  penny  of  his  own — and  a  man  must  live." 


84.  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"And  suppose  he  writes  back  that  he  doesn't  care 
a  pin  about  your  money?" 

Carey  began  to  move  slowly  towards  the  door.  "On 
his  own  head  be  it,  then!"  he  said.  "I'll  have  done 
my  best.  I'm  sorry  I  should  have  had  to  offend  you." 
He  hesitated  and  looked  back  at  her. 

But  Isabel  would  not  meet  his  eyes. 

"Won't  you  say  good-bye.''  I  am  sorry — ^though 
you  may  not  believe  it." 

"Good-bye!"  She  did  not  look  up  or  hold  out  her 
hand. 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Costello !"  He  turned  to  the  older 
woman. 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Carey!  I  suppose  you're  acting 
for  the  best;  but  indeed  I  must  say  you're  hard — 
very  hard." 

He  did  not  attempt  to  shake  hands  with  her;  and, 
passing  out  of  the  room  in  silence,  he  went  quietly 
down  the  hall,  and  let  himself  out  by  the  small  front 
door. 

Instantly  he  was  gone.  Miss  Costello's  feelings  broke 
all  bounds.  "Oh,  Isabel,"  she  cried,  "what  a  fright- 
ful thing!  What  a  terrible  thing!  A  good  match 
like  that  slipping  away  before  our  very  eyes !  What 
a  pity  your  poor  father  wasn't  more  saving — not 
that  he  had  anything  to  save!  But  if  only  you  had 
a  httle  money  now,  how  different  things  would  be! 
To  think  that  a  son  of  old  Bamy  Carey  the  builder 
should  have  it  in  his  power  to  despise  one  of  the 
Costellos !" 


THE   FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  85 

Isabel  stood  for  a  moment  listening  to  her  aunt  with 
pale  lips  and  eyes  black  with  passion ;  then  all  at  once 
she  brought  her  hands  together  with  a  fierce  gesture. 
*'Aunt  Teresa,"  she  said,  "if  you  say  one  word  more 
you'll  drive  me  stark,  staring  mad!"  And  before 
Miss  Costello  had  time  to  recover  from  her  surprise, 
she  had  vanished  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  IX 

For  a  week  inaction  oppressed  Isabel's  life;  then  the 
atmosphere  lifted.    A  letter  arrived  from  Paris. 

With  the  arrival  of  this  letter  everything  was 
altered;  it  was  as  if  a  cloud  had  been  dispersed,  per- 
mitting the  sun  of  activity  to  shine  forth  again  and 
fill  her  world.  She  read  it  in  the  morning,  while  Miss 
Costello  was  at  the  ten  o'clock  mass ;  and,  armed  with 
sudden  decision,  she  did  not  wait  to  peruse  the  pages 
a  second  time,  but,  pinning  on  her  hat,  sallied  forth 
from  the  house,  on  fire  with  the  sense  of  adventure. 

The  Waterford  streets  are  not  very  remarkable 
either  for  business  activity  or  beauty  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  but  romance  is  a  matter  of  soul,  not 
of  surrounding;  and  as  she  threaded  her  way  down 
the  incline  of  streets  from  New  Town  to  the  Mall, 
her  senses  were  attuned  to  the  lilt  of  her  thoughts, 
and  her  heart  kept  time  like  a  dancer's  feet. 

At  the  comer  of  the  Mall  she  stopped  to  give  a 
penny  to  a  blind  beggar,  and  the  man's  eloquent  flow 
of  blessings  seemed  the  last  note  in  the  paean  of  tri- 
umph. For  she  was  about  to  commit  an  act  of  dar- 
ing, she  was  about  to  outrage  that  conventionality 
in  which  the  members  of  her  set  moved  and  breathed ; 
and  as  she  swung  along  the  streets,  she  recalled 
Carey's  outburst  in  the  little  parlour,  his  simile  of  the 
great,  insistent  machine  of  expediency ;  and  as  added 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  87 

stimulus  the  vision  of  herself  rose  up — one  of  the 
fearless  few  with  hands  metaphorically  locked,  refus- 
ing; to  feed  the  monster. 

Crossing  one  or  two  of  the  more  important  thor- 
oughfares, she  passed  at  last  into  one  of  the  quieter, 
narrower  streets  that  in  every  town  are  stamped  with 
the  seal  of  the  professions,  and  over  which  an  air  of 
privacy  is  gathered  like  a  garment.  With  eager  and 
yet  hesitating  steps  she  threaded  her  way  along  the 
deserted  footpath,  taking  quick,  sidelong  glances  at 
the  windows  carefully  screened  from  the  vulgar  gaze, 
until  at  last  the  name  of  "Stephen  Carey,  Sohcitor," 
displayed  in  black  letters  on  grated  ironwork, 
brought  her  to  a  standstill. 

With  an  involuntary  impulse  she  glanced  up  and 
down  the  silent  street ;  then,  with  slightly  nervous 
haste,  she  turned  in  at  the  open  doorway. 

A  dark  and  dusty  passage  confronted  her  as  she 
stepped  in  out  of  the  daylight,  but  a  door  at  its 
farther  end  gave  renewed  hope,  for  there  again 
Carey's  name  was  blazoned  forth,  and,  hurrying  for- 
ward, she  knocked  twice  on  the  glass  panel.  For  a 
moment  she  waited,  listening  intently ;  then,  as  no 
sound  reached  her,  she  spurred  her  courage  and  turned 
the  handle. 

The  room  into  which  she  stepped  was  Carey's  outer 
office,  and  to  a  first  glance  it  looked  almost  as  unat- 
tractive as  the  passage  that  led  to  it.  The  ceiling 
was  high ;  the  walls  bare,  save  where  they  were  fitted 
with  shelves;  the  only  pieces  of  furniture  two  high 


88  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

desks  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  A  reedy 
youth  of  eighteen  or  nineteen  was  seated  at  one  of 
these  desks,  a  pen  behind  each  red  ear,  his  long  legs 
twined  round  an  office  stool ;  at  sound  of  the  opening 
door  he  looked  round  casually,  only  to  be  transfixed 
with  surprise  at  sight  of  the  intruder. 

Isabel  coloured  angrily  at  his  open-eyed  stare.  "I 
want  to  see  Mr.  Carey,"  she  announced  promptly. 
"Is  he  here.?" 

The  youth  took  a  third  pen  from  between  his  teeth. 
"You  can't  see  him,"  he  said  in  a  drawling  voice  that 
seemed  to  part  grudgingly  with  its  words. 

"Is  he  here.?" 

"Yes,  he's  here." 

"Then  why  can't  I  see  him.?" 

"Well,  you  can't,  for  he's  engaged." 

Isabel,  who  was  no  respecter  of  persons,  made  haste 
to  probe  this  statement.  "What  is  he  doing.?"  she 
demanded. 

The  youth,  nonplussed  by  such  directness,  was  drawn 
to  answer  directly.  "Well,  he's  talking  to  the  head 
clerk." 

At  this,  Isabel's  assurance  flowed  back  in  full  meas- 
ure. *'Is  that  all!"  she  said  contemptuously.  "Go 
and  tell  him  at  once  that  somebody  wants  him!" 

The  youth  wriggled  on  his  stool.  "Oh,  I  don't 
know  that  I  can  do  that,"  he  demurred.  "Are  you  a 
cUent?" 

Isabel  ignored  both  the  objection  and  the  question. 
"Where  is  he?"  she  asked. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  89 

He  indicated  a  second  door.  "In  there,  in  his  pri- 
vate office." 

She  acknowledged  the  information  by  a  nod  of  her 
head.  "Very  well!  Then  I'll  tell  him  myself,"  she 
said;  and,  leaving  the  youth  too  amazed  for  protest, 
she  crossed  the  room,  and  without  more  ado  knocked 
peremptorily  on  the  inner  door. 

There  was  a  slight  pause;  then  came  a  sound  of 
steps,  followed  by  the  opening  of  the  door,  and  the 
head  clerk,  a  fair  man  with  a  short  beard  and  near- 
sighted eyes,  looked  out  impatiently. 

"What  do  you  want,  Thomas.?"  he  said,  but  seeing 
the  intruder,  he  broke  off.  "Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon ! 
What  can  I  do  for  you.''" 

"Can  I  see  Mr.  Carey  ?  My  name  is  Costello.  Per- 
haps you'll  tell  him  that  I'm  here." 

"Certainly,  certainly  I  will."  The  clerk  glanced  be- 
hind him  hesitatingly,  then  stepped  aside,  as  he  saw 
Carey  rise  quickly  from  his  desk  and  come  across  the 
room. 

The  surprise  that  had  crossed  Stephen's  face  at  the 
sound  of  Isabel's  voice  was  still  visible  as  he  pushed 
past  the  clerk  and  threw  the  door  wide;  and  in  that 
first  unguarded  second  she  seized  upon  the  certainty 
that  the  surprise  was  not  unpleasant. 

"I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  have  come !  But  I  wanted 
to  see  you,  and  I  couldn't  think  of  any  other 
place." 

Carey  laughed,  as  he  took  her  hand  and  drew  her 
into  the  office.     "You  can  go  on  with  that  deed.  All- 


90  THE   FLY   ON    THE  WHEEL 

man !"  he  added ;  and  the  head  clerk  withdrew,  closing 
the  door. 

She  had  taken  him  unprepared,  and  in  the  moment 
of  surprise  it  seemed  that  he  was  once  more  the 
Stephen  Carey  of  the  Fair  Hill  dance — ^the  real  man, 
unshackled  by  convention. 

Her  spirits  soared  high.  She  looked  into  his  face, 
echoing  his  laugh. 

"But  I  shouldn't  have  come,  should  I.'"' 

"You  shouldn't — unless  you  want  legal  advice !" 

She  took  the  chair  he  pushed  forward  for  her, 
watching  him  seat  himself  at  the  large  flat-topped 
desk  where  he  transacted  all  his  work. 

"You  can  guess  why  I  came,  can't  you.'"' 

"Another  battle.?" 

She  made  no  reply ;  but,  smiling  under  the  half -quiz- 
zical, half -questioning  gaze  of  his  eyes,  slipped  her 
hand  into  her  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  thin  foreign 
envelope. 

"  'Twas  for  this.     I  wanted  to  show  you  this." 

She  held  out  the  letter,  and,  as  it  passed  from  her 
hand  to  his,  she  sank  back  again  into  her  chair,  ap- 
parently absorbed  in  a  study  of  the  black  tin  boxes 
lining  the  walls,  in  reality  listening  with  sharp  in- 
tensity to  the  rustle  of  the  paper  between  his  fingers. 
She  stayed  quite  motionless  while  he  drew  the  sheet  of 
paper  from  its  envelope,  and  while  he  turned  the  first 
page ;  then,  unable  to  restrain  her  curiosity,  she  moved 
in  her  seat  and  shot  a  swift  glance  at  him  as  he  sat 
with  head  bent  and  body  leaning  forward. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  91 

As  if  conscious  of  the  glance,  he  looked  up. 

"So  you  wanted  me  to  read  this?" 

She  nodded. 

He  folded  the  letter  and  refolded  it,  drawing  out 
the  creases  mechanically,  while  his  eyes  fixed  them- 
selves upon  the  papers  crowded  on  his  desk. 

"So  this  is  Frank's  answer  to  me.''  He  cares  noth- 
ing for  me  or  for  my  money,  so  long  as  you  stick  to 
him!" 

He  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  so  low  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  follow  its  expression;  and  Isabel,  watching 
his  immobile  face,  felt  her  courage  falter. 

"Are  you  very  disappointed.?" 

He  looked  up  at  her  again,  and  his  glance  was  the 
hard,  cold  glance  with  which  he  had  always  scanned 
his  failures.     "Oh,  I  acknowledge  myself  beaten!" 

The  colour  leaped  into  her  face — the  red  banner  of 
success.  This  was  the  moment  for  which  she  had  lived 
as  she  swung  along  the  streets,  and  her  whole  spirit 
rose  now  to  meet  it.  With  one  of  her  swiftest  ges- 
tures, she  stood  up  and  walked  across  to  him. 

"Mr.  Carey,"  she  said,  the  nervous  note  of  tense  ex- 
citement thrilling  in  her  voice, — "Mr.  Carey,  why  do 
you  treat  me  as  if  I  was  a  sort  of  enemy?  Why  do 
you  speak  to  me  as  if  I  was  trying  to  bring  Frank 
to  ruin,  just  out  of  spite?  Why  have  you  never  asked 
me  to  break  off  with  him  as — as  a  sort  of  favour — 
as  a  sort  of  kindness?" 

She  looked  down  at  him,  her  finger-tips  resting  on 
the  desk,  her  face  brimming  with  expression. 


S2  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Why  haven't  you  ever  thought  that  I  might  do  it 
to  help  you — ^to  please  you?" 

Carey  glanced  up.  "I  suppose  I  only  know  one  way 
of  getting  things." 

She  threw  back  her  head.  "And  you  think  women 
like  that  way?" 

He  was  silent.  It  did  not  come  to  him  to  tell  her 
that  all  his  life  he  had  commanded,  not  asked  of, 
women. 

"Don't  you  think  if  you  had  asked,  things  might 
have  been  different?" 

"I  never  ask." 

*'Ask  now!"  The  words  were  almost  a  whisper — a 
whisper  in  which  he  could  hear  the  catch  and  quiver 
of  her  breath. 

He  twisted  round  in  his  seat.  "What  do  you  mean 
by  that?" 

"What  I  say.     Ask  now!" 

Native  suspicion  ousted  the  surprise  in  his  face. 
*'I  don't  like  being  made  a  fool  of !" 

Isabel  drew  herself  up.  "And  do  you  think  I  came 
here  to  make  a  fool  of  you  ?  I'll  tell  you  why  I  came ! 
I  came  to  tell  you  that  you  can  keep  Frank — ^that  I 
don't  want  him — that  I'm  done  with  him." 

In  the  immeasurable  relief  of  the  moment  Carey 
jumped  up.  "You  mean  that?"  he  cried.  "You  actu- 
ally mean  that?" 

"I  do  mean  it;  yes." 

They  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  each  other  in 
the  quiet  office — ^he  absorbed  by  the  news,  she  ob- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  9S 

servant  of  him.  In  the  crucial  moments  of  life  it  is 
always  the  woman  who  puts  the  eternal  "Why?" 
Man,  the  active,  the  unanalytical,  who  deals  in  re- 
sults. It  never  touched  Carey's  mind  to  question  the 
motives  that  had  prompted  this  act  of  renunciation, 
the  tangled  feelings  that  had  prompted  this  change 
of  front:  if  he  saw  Isabel  in  the  affair  at  all,  it  was 
merely  as  the  exponent  of  an  unlooked-for  generosity 
— a  creature  who  had  proved  herself  strangely  sensi- 
ble by  falling  in  with  his  own  views.  The  subtler 
compliment  went  altogether  unobserved. 

"It's — it's  very  generous  of  you,"  he  said  at  length. 
"What  can  I  say.?" 

"I  don't  ask  you  to  say  anything.  I'm  not  doing 
it  for  thanks." 

"And  Frank.?     Have  you  thought  of  Frank.?" 

"I'll  write  to  Frank  to-night." 

Carey's  face  changed.  "He'll  be  very  much  cut  up, 
remember !  He'll  do  all  sorts  of  things.  He'll  prob- 
ably threaten  to  kill  himself  when  he  first  hears  this.'* 

Isabel  smiled.  "First.?  You're  not  very  compli- 
mentary." 

"Oh,  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  you.  It's  only  that 
I  know  Frank.  As  for  compliments,  I  can't  pay  them, 
but  I'd  like  to  ask  you  to  forgive  me  for — a  lot  of 
things ;  and  I'd  like, — I'd  like,  if  it's  possible,  to  be 
friends." 

Her  glance,  quick  and  warm,  flashed  to  him.  "You're 
sincere  when  you  say  that.?" 

"Yes.     I  am." 


94  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

She  held  out  her  hand  in  a  swift,  free  gesture. 
*'Then  I'll  go.    I  wanted  you  to  say  it.     Good-bye !" 

He  took  her  fingers  in  his  hard,  strong  grasp. 

"Good-bye !    And  thanks !" 

This  was  their  parting.  No  promise  of  a  future 
meeting,  no  suggestion  of  all  that  was  yet  to  come. 
A  favour  given,  a  favour  received;  a  clasp  of  the 
hands,  and  an  inarticulate  sense  of  mutual  under- 
standing. 


CHAPTER  X 

Had  Isabel  been  the  most  industrious  weaver  of  plots, 
instead  of  the  most  heedlessly  spontaneous  of  beings, 
she  could  not  have  fitted  impulse  to  action  with  better 
social  results  than  when  she  decided  to  renounce 
Frank  Carey ;  for  on  the  fourth  day  after  her  visit 
to  Stephen  she  received  an  almost  affectionate  note 
from  Daisy,  asking  her  to  excuse  a  short  invitation 
and  dine  at  Lady  Lane  at  six  o'clock.  The  conscious- 
ness of  a  calamity  averted  breathed  in  every  line  of 
the  commonplace  little  letter,  although  outwardly  it 
expressed  nothing  beyond  an  effusive  regret  that  they 
had  only  met  once  since  Isabel's  return  to  Water- 
ford. 

Isabel  was  going  through  the  last  stages  of  a  try- 
ing scene  with  Miss  Costello  on  the  subject  of  her 
great  decision  when  the  letter  was  brought  in;  and, 
having  read  it,  she  tossed  it  across  the  table  with  a 
little  smile  of  malicious  satisfaction. 

"You  wanted  me  to  get  on  with  the  Careys,  so  you 
ought  to  be  satisfied  now!  I  couldn't  have  done  the 
two  things !" 

Miss  Costello  sighed  heavily.  "Easy  for  them  to  be 
nice  to  you  now !"  she  said,  as  she  put  the  note  down. 
"Indeed,  when  I  was  a  girl,  it  wasn't  to  be  taking 
things  into  my  own  hands  like  that  I  would !" 

Isabel  gave  a  still  louder  sigh.     "You've  said  that 


96  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

ten  times,  Aunt  Teresa!  I  don't  suppose  you  were 
ever  like  me,  or  that  I  will  ever  be  like  you." 

"Indeed  you  won't!  No  one  but  your  father's 
daughter  would  have  thrown  away  such  a  chance  as 
that!" 

"Well,  would  you  rather  I  didn't  go  to  the  Careys'  ?" 

"I  didn't  say  so.  I  suppose  half  a  loaf  is  better  than 
no  bread — ^though  indeed  'twas  very  different  society 
your  grandmother  was  in  in  the  County  Wexford!" 

Isabel  rose  from  the  horse-hair  arm-chair  in  which 
she  was  sitting  huddled  up.  "Is  it  evening  dress,  I 
wonder !" 

"Evening  dress!    What  for?" 

"Nothing!  I  was  only  wondering!  At  school,  the 
girls  used  to  dress  for  dinner  when  they  were  home 
on  the  holidays." 

"Well,  you  won't  find  many  in  Waterford  dressing 
for  their  dinner.  I  suppose  old  Bamy  Carey  would 
turn  in  his  grave  with  pride  if  he  saw  people  sitting 
at  his  son's  table  in  evening  dress !" 

"Well,  what'll  I  wear  then.?" 

"Your  white  blouse,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  auntie,  it's  awfully  dirty!" 

"Wear  your  pink,  then." 

"But  he  saw  me  in  that  on  Sunday !"  She  said  the 
words  unthinkingly;  then  paused,  blushing. 

But  Miss  Costello  was  not  observant.  "Is  it  Stephen 
Carey.?" 

"Yes." 

*'And  do  you  think  he'd  see  what  you  had  on?    He's 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  97 

not  a  bachelor,  that  he'd  be  noticing  girls'  clothes  1 
Wear  your  pink!" 

Isabel  accepted  the  decision,  not  because  she  had 
nothing  further  to  urge  upon  the  subject,  but  because 
the  scanty  condition  of  her  wardrobe  was  eloquently 
present  to  her  mind.  So  in  her  pink  muslin  dress,  with 
a  sailor  hat  covering  her  hair  and  a  dark  ulster  hiding 
her  finery,  she  started  that  evening  from  New  Town 
as  the  city  clocks  were  striking  half-past  five. 

There  is  no  necessity  for  a  chaperon  at  any  hour  in 
an  Irish  town,  and  it  would  be  looked  upon  as  ex- 
travagance for  a  young  girl  of  Isabel's  position  to 
drive  to  a  dinner-party.  On  foot,  therefore,  and  alone 
she  started  for  Lady  Lane,  and  with  the  cool  evening 
air  blowing  up  from  the  river,  and  the  thought  of  the 
enterprise  acting  as  a  stimulus,  it  was  an  undertaking 
full  of  interest.  Much  of  portent  centred  round  this 
invitation,  for  in  the  Careys'  set  young  girls  are  not 
usually  asked  out  to  dine;  they  have  their  allotted 
place  at  dances  and  at  evening  parties,  but  dinners 
are  generally  dull  affairs  reserved  for  the  married  of 
the  community,  and  this  invitation  of  Daisy's  was  a 
mark  of  special  and  premeditated  grace — at  once  a 
balm  for  previous  coldness  and  a  promise  of  futui'e 
favour. 

As  Isabel  approached  the  house,  her  steps  became 
slower;  and  as  she  crossed  the  road  she  looked  up  at 
the  windows,  wondering  which  was  Carey's — ^the  place 
where  he  smoked,  where  he  read,  where  he  thought 
those  strange,  circumscribed  thoughts  that  he  had 


98  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

expressed  in  her  aunt's  parlour.  Slowly,  and  with  her 
mind  full  of  question,  she  mounted  the  steps  and  rang 
the  bell. 

The  door  was  opened  to  her  by  Julia,  whose  face 
was  red  from  excitement  and  services  rendered  to  the 
cook,  and  whose  cap  and  apron  were  aggressively 
starched  in  honour  of  the  evening's  festivity. 

"You'll  take  off  your  hat  and  jacket,  won't  you. 
Miss  Costello?"  she  said,  proud  to  display  her  recog- 
nition of  the  guest. 

"Thanks!    Yes." 

"All  right  so!  You  can  leave  them  in  the  spare 
room.     I'll  show  you  the  way  up." 

She  piloted  Isabel  up  the  wide  staircase,  where  the 
walls  were  devoid  of  pictures  but  betrayed  the  ostenta- 
tious prosperity  that  new  paint  and  paper  argues  in 
Ireland.  On  the  first  landing  they  passed  the  door  of 
the  drawing-room,  which  was  half  open,  and  through 
which  the  loud  sound  of  laughter  and  voices  came 
rather  dauntingly  to  the  visitor.  On  the  second  floor 
Julia  opened  the  door  of  a  bedroom — the  same  bed- 
room in  which  Daisy  and  Mary  had  dressed  on  the 
night  of  the  dance — and  Isabel  looked  round  curiously 
as  she  stepped  across  the  threshold  and  began  to  un- 
fasten her  coat. 

It  was  a  large  room,  bare  of  wall  and  high  of  ceil- 
ing, as  are  so  many  Irish  rooms,  possessing  the  lofty, 
square-paned  windows  of  another  generation,  that 
rattle  to  every  passing  wind  and  permit  the  daylight 
to  search  out  every  cranny  and  recess  with  merciless 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  99 

rigour.  Here,  too,  as  in  the  hall  downstairs,  there 
was  a  veil  of  ugly  modernity  thrown  over  the  char- 
acter of  the  place :  two  or  three  pieces  of  fine  old  fur- 
niture stood  against  the  walls,  but  in  glaring  contrast 
to  their  dark  solidity,  a  new  brass  bedstead  flaunted 
its  existence,  while  curtains  of  limp  art  muslin  hung 
from  the  massive  cornices  of  the  windows.  Isabel 
condemned  the  taste  that  had  conceived  these  decora- 
tions, as  she  handed  her  coat  to  the  servant  and  went 
across  to  the  dressing-table  to  take  off  her  hat.  "If 
I  had  her  money !"  she  thought ;  and  she  heaved  a 
sigh. 

"Would  you  like  a  comb.  Miss  Costello?  Though 
indeed  'twould  be  a  sin  to  touch  your  hair." 

"No,  thanks !  I  don't  want  a  comb."  Isabel  looked 
into  the  glass,  twisting  up  a  stray  lock  or  two,  while 
Julia  watched  her  with  burning  interest. 

"I  suppose  you're  glad  to  be  back  again,  miss  ?  You 
were  a  long  time  away  at  school,"  she  suggested,  un- 
able to  suppress  her  curiosity. 

"Oh,  yes;  I'm  glad." 

"I  suppose  you  don't  remember  me.  Miss  Costello, 
though  I  remember  you.-"' 

Isabel  looked  round.     "How  do  you  remember  me?" 

Julia  was  satisfied,  having  at  last  drawn  forth  some 
expression  of  interest.  "Oh,  indeed  'tis  well  I  remem- 
ber you  when  you  were  a  little  thing.  You  were  like 
a  gipsy,  I  remember — so  dark.  Me  and  the  other 
girls  at  Mr.  Nagle's  used  to  be  admiring  you  that 
time." 


100  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Did  you  live  at  the  Nagles'?" 

"Indeed  I  did,  miss.  I  lived  there  seven  years  before 
I  went  to  Mr.  Norris's." 

Isabel  looked  reflective.  "I  remember  the  Nagles' 
big  gate  just  opposite  our  house,"  she  said.  **Fancy 
your  being  there !"  Then  a  new  look  crossed  her  face. 
"Did  you  ever  see  my  mother.?"  she  asked  in  a  lower 
tone. 

Julia's  face  became  sympathetic  at  once.  "No, 
miss ;  God  be  merciful  to  her !  I  never  saw  Mrs.  Cos- 
tello,  though  many  a  time  I  remember  Mary  Ahern, 
the  cook,  telling  me  the  handsome-looking  lady  she 
was,  and  the  terrible  way  poor  Mr.  Costello  was  broke 
up  after  her.  I  believe  'tis  walking  the  roads  all 
night  he  used  to  be,  till  they  were  afraid  his  mind 
wouldn't  hold  out.  But,  God  bless  us,  there's  the 
hall-door  bell  again!  I  must  go.  Are  you  ready, 
miss .?" 

Silenced  by  the  thought  of  the  shadow  that  had 
darkened  her  house,  Isabel  followed  the  maid  out  of 
the  room  and  down  the  stairs ;  but  at  the  door  of  the 
drawing-room  the  moment  with  its  immediate  de- 
mands ousted  the  past,  and  her  mind  swung  back  to 
the  thought  of  the  ordeal  to  come. 

With  the  flurried  consciousness  of  the  unanswered 
bell,  Julia  threw  open  the  drawing-room  door,  made 
an  unintelligible  murmur  that  might  have  been  taken 
for  the  guest's  name,  and  hurriedly  withdrew,  leaving 
Isabel  alone  upon  the  threshold. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  uncomfortably  aware  of 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  101 

a  very  large  room,  filled  with  a  multitude  of  chairs, 
cabinets,  mirrors,  and  small  tables,  and  of  a  group 
of  three  men  and  three  women  gathered  round 
the  fire-place  at  its  farthest  end:  then,  to  her  in- 
tense relief  Daisy  Carey  separated  herself  from 
the  little  circle  and  came  forward  with  effusive 
haste. 

"Oh,  Isabel!  How  are  you!  How  nice  of  you  to 
come.  Stephen  isn't  here  yet — he  telephoned  from 
the  office  that  he'll  be  a  little  late.  You  know  Mrs. 
Power  and  Mary !  Let  me  introduce  Father  Cun- 
ningham and  Father  Baron  and  my  brother,  Tom!" 
With  a  friendliness  in  striking  contrast  to  her  previ- 
ous manner,  she  took  Isabel's  arm  and  drew  her  into 
the  party. 

Isabel  herself,  rather  confused  by  this  change  of 
attitude,  bowed  vaguely  to  the  two  priests  and  to  a 
fair-haired  boy  of  twenty,  and  suffered  Mary,  who 
was  evidently  following  Daisy's  lead,  to  touch  her 
cheek  with  the  semblance  of  a  kiss. 

"How  are  you,  Isabel !  Were  you  in  time  for  your 
appointment  on  Sunday  .P" 

Isabel  coloured,  and  was  glad  to  sink  into  the  chair 
that  Tom  Norris  pushed  forward  for  her. 

To  her  great  relief,  nobody  took  any  further  notice 
of  her,  and  presently  the  little  group  dropped  back 
into  its  former  order,  and  the  conversation  she  had 
interrupted  was  taken  up  again. 

"What  we  want  in  this  movement  is  organisation!'* 
said  Norris. 


102  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"What  you  want  in  every  movement  is  money,  if  you 
ask  me!"  said  Mary. 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  bring  in  a  mercenary  spirit.  Miss 
Norris,"  objected  Father  Cunningham,  the  younger 
of  the  two  priests,  who  had  a  pale,  eager  face  and 
wore  the  gold  cross  of  the  total  abstinence  pledge  on 
his  black  watch-chain. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  remonstrate  with  her,"  Norris 
broke  in.  "It's  sickening  to  think  of  what  women 
could  do — and  don't,  just  because  the  thing  isn't 
fashionable !" 

"I  think  it's  sickening  to  be  called  a  'woman'  by  your 
own  brother!" 

Norris  laughed  involuntarily.  "But  seriously, 
Polly,"  he  said,  "look  what  you  and  Daisy  could  do, 
if  you  cared  a  straw !  You  could  start  classes  in 
private  houses,  like  they  do  in  London." 

"Public  houses  suit  the  scholars  here  ever  so  much 
better.     Don't  they.  Father  Cunningham?" 

"Oh,  well,  of  course,  if  that's  your  attitude " 

Norris  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"But,  Tom,"  Daisy  put  in  plaintively,  "how  on  earth 
could  I  do  anything — ^with  Stephen  and  the  children?" 

"Well,  Mary  hasn't  any  children!" 

"I  like  that !  As  if  I  hadn't  a  father — ^worse  than 
thirty  children!  I'd  like  to  see  how  many  lectures 
you'd  give,  and  how  many  classes  you'd  attend,  if 
you  had  to  mend  father's  socks !  Here's  Stephen, 
Daisy!     I  heard  the  hall  door  shut." 

This  announcement  put  a  stop  to  further  argument, 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  103 

and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  Carey  himself  entered. 
He  looked  very  tall  and  strong  in  the  fading  daylight 
that  filled  the  room,  and  as  he  joined  the  little  circle 
it  seemed  that  he  brought  with  him  a  breath  of  the 
outer  air,  the  vitality  and  energy  of  the  outer  world. 

He  took  Isabel's  hand  first  of  all,  and  although  his 
greeting  was  ordinary,  the  friendly  pressure  of  his 
fingers  banished  her  diffidence,  and  she  unconsciously 
lifted  her  head,  looking  out  upon  the  scene  with  re- 
newed self-confidence. 

There  was  a  moment  or  two  of  fragmentary  talk, 
then  Daisy  rose;  and,  without  preserving  any  par- 
ticular order,  the  party  straggled  out  of  the  room 
and  downstairs.  In  the  dining-room  the  big  gasalier 
above  the  dinner-table  was  blazing  with  light,  and  on 
the  table  itself  a  display  of  the  old  cut  glass  for 
which  Waterford  is  famous  cast  back  the  light  from 
its  facets,  while  the  silver,  of  which  Daisy  was  justly 
proud,  was  burnished  to  look  its  best.  The  higher 
refinements  of  civilisation  may  not  be  found  in  such 
households  as  the  Norris's  and  the  Careys',  but  an 
amazing  number  of  valuable  articles  are  handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation  in  these  middle-class 
families,  and  the  pantry  of  many  an  Irish  housekeeper 
would  fill  the  collector  with  envy. 

When  the  party  had  sorted  itself  out  and  the  seats 
round  the  large  table  were  all  occupied,  it  proved  that 
Isabel's  place  was  between  young  Norris  and  Father 
Baron.  Very  little  was  said  while  the  soup  and  fish 
were  eaten,  for  a  meal  in  Ireland  usually  means  a  meal ; 


104  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

but  when  the  cover  was  removed  from  a  joint  of  beef, 
and  Carey  entered  on  the  task  of  carving,  ideas  began 
to  stir  again  and  the  hum  of  opinions  to  make  itself 
heard. 

"Well,  Father  James,  you  were  very  silent  up  in  the 
drawing-room!"  Norris  remarked,  leaning  across 
Isabel.  "How  is  the  movement  going  on  down  at 
Scarragh .?" 

Father  James  Baron  was  a  man  of  sixty-eight,  with 
a  high  colour,  grizzled  hair,  and  a  wide  mouth  tem- 
pered with  the  love  of  his  kind.  He  was  priest  of  the 
smallest  and  most  insignificant  parish  in  his  diocese, 
and  a  man  of  little  worldly  polish;  but  something 
deeper  than  the  learning  of  books  looked  out  of  his 
small  eyes,  and  when  he  spoke  his  listeners  attended, 
however  homely  the  words  might  be.  There  was  true 
metal  in  the  man,  and  it  could  be  felt  without  explana- 
tion that  it  had  been  tempered  in  the  furnace.  He 
turned  slowly  now,  and  looked  at  Tom  with  the 
humorous  indulgence  of  a  father  to  his  child. 
^'Well !  well !  well !"  he  said  slowly.  "And  is  it  a  lit- 
tle place  like  Scarragh  you're  going  to  turn  your 
hand  to  now.'"' 

"We  must  have  every  place  interested.  Father 
James,"  Norris  retorted  quickly.  "No  place  is  too 
small.    What  we  want  is  undivided  interest." 

Isabel  could  restrain  her  curiosity  no  longer.  "What 
is  it  you're  talking  about?"  she  said.  "I'd  simply 
love  to  know !" 

Norris's  face  lighted  up,  full  of  enthusiasm  at  once. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  105 

"Why,  the   great   new  movement,"  he  said.     "The 
Gaelic  movement.     Haven't  you  heard  of  all  it's  do- 


ing 


?'» 


"The  Gaelic  movement?" 

"Yes,"  put  in  Mary  across  the  table,  "all  the  chil- 
dren in  the  National  Schools  can  say  their  prayers  in 
Irish  now,  and  in  a  lot  of  the  towns  they've  written 
up  the  name  of  the  streets  in  Irish.  It  gives  them 
quite  a  nice  foreign  look  for  tourists !" 

"Indeed,  Mary,  you're  too  hard  on  them,"  said  Mrs. 
Power  amiably.  "You  ought  to  be  very  glad  that 
your  brother  has  such  nice  quiet  tastes,  instead  of 
betting  and  playing  cards  like  so  many  of  the  young 
men."  She  heaved  a  placid  sigh,  recalling  her  own 
son's  peccadillos,  which  she  was  far  too  lazily  indul- 
gent to  check. 

Carey  looked  up  from  cutting  the  last  piece  of  beef. 
"Take  a  hint  from  that,  Mary,"  he  said.  "Marry 
a  man  with  nice  quiet  Gaelic  tastes !" 

Mary  coloured  with  annoyance,  and  was  about  to 
make  a  sharp  retort,  when  her  brother  seized  the  si- 
lence to  urge  his  own  opinions.  "Don't  listen  to  them, 
Miss  Costello !"  he  said  earnestly.  "It's  people  like 
them  that  have  kept  Ireland  where  she  is.  We'd  have 
been  a  nation  long  ago — a  nation  in  the  commercial 
and  intellectual  sense — only  for  the  poisonous  spirit 
of  depreciation  that's  spread  over  every  honest  effort 
to  raise  the  country.  Look  at  Stephen !  He's  an  in- 
telligent man,  and  yet  he  wouldn't  raise  a  finger ^" 

"Steady,  Tom !    I  had  both  my  hands  to  the  plough 


106  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

once — only  we  called  it  the  Land  League  then,  not 
the  Gaelic  movement.  You'll  always  have  young 
men,  you  know;  but  Ireland  won't  be  changed  by 
that." 

"I  don't  think  you're  right,  Mr.  Carey,"  broke  in 
Father  Cunningham  with  the  quick  heat  of  the  zealot. 
"The  Land  League,  of  course,  was  purely  political. 
This  is  altogether  different.  It's  when  you  begin  to 
educate  a  country  that  you  begin  to  progress." 

*'No  doubt !"  said  Carey.  "But  are  you  prepared  to 
educate  Ireland?  You  might  teach  the  new  generation 
to  talk  in  German,  as  far  as  that  goes,  but  unless  you 
allowed  its  mind  to  run  in  German  grooves,  you'd 
be  leaving  it  exactly  where  it  was.  Are  you  going 
to  teach  the  new  generation  to  express  itself  in  differ- 
ent sounds,  or  are  you  going  to  give  it  new  ideas  to 
express.?     That's  the  question,  as  I  see  it." 

**The  proper  vehicle  of  expression  must  be  the  native 
tongue,"  said  Norris  hotly.  "Once  teach  the  people 
to  speak  and  write  in  the  natural  language  of  the 
country,  and  you'll  soon  have  the  national  spirit  wak- 
ing up.  Why  has  Ireland — one  of  the  most  poetic 
countries  in  the  world — no  modern  national  litera- 
ture? Simply  and  solely  because  she  was  thrown  back 
again  into  infancy  by  being  made  to  think  and  speak 
and  write  in  a  new  language,  when  she  was  practically 
a  fully  developed  nation!" 

"Wait  a  minute,  Tom!"  Carey  paused  in  the  cut- 
ting of  his  own  dinner.  "You  people  hold  that  when 
iEngland  robbed  us  of  our  language,  she  threw  us 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  107 

back  into  a  sort  of  national  childhood — out  of  which 
we  are  now  slowly  struggling?" 

"Certainly!  Certainly,  we  do!  I'd  like  to  know 
if  any  one  can  refute  it!" 

"Very  well!  And  what  are  you  trying  to  do  your- 
selves? You're  trying  with  might  and  main  to  do 
what  England  did  in  the  penal  days !  You're  send- 
ing Ireland  back  to  school !"  He  took  up  his  tumbler 
and  drank  some  water  with  the  hasty  manner  of  a 
man  whose  temper  is  stirred.  "Now  that  she  has  been 
trounced  into  learning  her  English,  for  goodness' 
sake,  let  her  do  what  she  can  with  that,  instead  of  set- 
ting her  down  to  a  dead  language !  If  you  want  ad- 
vancement, let  it  be  educational  by  all  means ;  but  let 
the  education  be  modem !  Souse  the  country  with 
modern  thought — Spencer  and  Huxley,  Haeckel  and 
Kant — and  be  hanged  to  sentimentality !" 

There  was  silence  after  his  outburst.  Daisy  looked 
frightened;  Father  Cunningham  excited;  and  the 
older  priest  anxious. 

"Those  are  dangerous  writers,  Mr.  Carey,"  said 
Father  Cunningham.  "I'd  be  very  sorry  to  see  Catho- 
lic Ireland  reading  such  men  as  Haeckel." 

"That  sounds  like  weakness !  If  you  are  sure  of 
your  flock,  you  shouldn't  be  afraid  of  new  pastures." 

"A  dangerous  doctrine!" 

A  retort  rose  to  Carey's  lips,  but  on  the  instant  of 
its  utterance  his  eye  caught  Father  Baron's,  and, 
with  a  curious  change  of  attitude,  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  dropped  the  aggressive  tone. 


108  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Well,  Father  James,  and  what's  your  opinion?" 
he  substituted. 

Father  Baron  looked  infinitely  relieved.  "Well, 
Stephen,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  think,  after  all,  'tis  good 
for  young  men  to  be  at  something,  so  long  as  it  isn't 
mischief;  but  I'm  inclined  to  agree  with  you  that 
whether  it's  Young  Ireland  or  the  Land  League  or  the 
Gaelic  movement,  'twill  all  be  the  same  in  a  hundred 
years !" 

Carey  laughed,  half  despondently,  half  sarcastically. 
"That's  it !"  he  said.  "That's  it !  'The  brave  days 
when  we  were  twenty-one' !"  His  voice  dropped ;  and 
Isabel,  who  alone  among  the  party  was  listening  to 
his  words  and  not  to  his  opinions,  shot  an  involuntary 
glance  at  him  from  under  her  lashes,  and  by  a  swift 
flash  of  intuition  it  seemed  to  her  that  in  imagination 
she  could  hear  the  whirr  of  the  great  machine  of  which 
he  had  discoursed  in  the  room  at  New  Town. 

Except  for  a  feeble  murmuring  of  gossip  between 
Daisy  and  Mrs.  Power,  conversation  flagged  after 
this,  while  the  meat  was  removed  and  a  pudding  placed 
upon  the  table,  for  no  Irishman  can  be  impersonal 
when  his  feelings  are  seething;  and  under  the  out- 
ward appearance  of  conviviality,  one  could  feel 
Father  Cunningham  and  Norris  thirsting  to  break 
bounds. 

At  last  the  pudding  gave  way  to  dessert;  the  cloth 
was  removed,  fruit  and  port  were  placed  upon  the 
table,  and  Julia  withdrew  for  the  last  time. 

As  the  door  closed  upon  her,  Tom  took  a  handful 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  109 

of  walnuts  from  a  dish,  and  began  to  crack  them  os- 
tentatiously. "I'd  like  to  know,  Stephen,"  he  said  in 
an  aggressive  voice,  "what  exactly  you  mean  when 
you  talk  about  sentimentality?" 

Daisy  made  a  hasty  little  movement,  and  locked 
appealingly  at  Mrs.  Power. 

"They're  going  to  begin  again !"  she  said  in  a  whis- 
per. "I  think  we'll  go  upstairs,  unless  anybody  wants 
fruit." 

]\Irs.  Power  and  Isabel  disclaimed  all  wish  to  eat, 
and  the  three  stood  up  simultaneously,  while  Mary, 
who  was  nothing  if  not  leisurely,  rose  last  of  all, 
picked  up  a  handful  of  raisins,  and  strolled  slowly 
after  them  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XI 

*'What  fools  men  are !"  said  Mary,  as  she  calmly 
mounted  the  stairs  in  Daisy's  wake,  putting  one 
raisin  after  another  into  her  mouth.  "Look  at  Tom ! 
He's  really  awfully  clever,  and  father  spent  a  fortune 
on  educating  him ;  and  what  does  he  go  and  do  now 
— ^just  when  he  might  be  of  some  use  to  Daisy  and 
me — ^but  take  up  this  Gaelic  thing!  Teaching  the 
people,  indeed !  As  if  they  didn't  know  far  too  much 
as  it  is !  I'm  sure  it's  harder  to  get  servants  every 
year." 

**Indeed,  that's  true,"  Daisy  agreed,  as  they  passed 
into  the  drawing-room.  "Only  yesterday  nurse  actu- 
ally refused  to  take  baby  out,  because  she  had  been 
kept  awake  the  night  before.  And  I  pay  her  eigh- 
teen pounds  a-year!" 

"My  dear,  much  too  much !  I  never  gave  a  nurse 
more  than  fourteen — and  never  would." 

"But  what's  the  good  of  that,  Mrs.  Power,  when 
they  won't  come  for  less.'"' 

"You  should  be  firm,"  advised  Mrs.  Power,  whose 
management  of  her  own  establishment  was  lax  in  the 
extreme. 

Daisy  sank  into  a  low  chair,  and  began  to  twist  the 
rings  on  her  pretty,  useless-looking  fingers.  "I  do 
try,"  she  murmured,  "but  really,  you  know,  they're 
awful — and  children  are  such  a  responsibility." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  111 

Mrs.  Power  laughed,  as  she  sank  into  a  seat.  "Three 
children  a  responsibility  !  Look  at  me,  with  nine !  But 
we  mustn't  be  talking  about  responsibilities,  or  we'll 
be  making  the  girls  afraid  to  get  married  at  all!" 

Mary,  who  was  eating  her  last  raisin,  glanced  round 
at  this.  "Indeed,  you  won't  find  me  marrying,  Mrs. 
Power." 

Mrs.  Power  smiled  with  superior  wisdom.  "We  all 
said  that  once,  Mary.  But  you'll  be  caught  one  of 
these  days,  all  the  same." 

"Well,  then,  I  have  still  to  meet  the  man!" 

Daisy  and  INIrs.  Power  exchanged  a  swift  glance,  to 
which  Mary  considerably  pretended  to  be  blind. 

"Isn't  that  a  bad  compliment,  now,  to  the  Waterford 
men.  Miss  Costello?"  said  Mrs.  Power,  turning  to 
Isabel  and  drawing  her  into  the  conversation.  "I 
hope  you  aren't  going  to  be  so  fastidious." 

The  suggestion  was  a  little  awkward,  considering 
the  secret  shared  by  three  of  the  party  as  to  Isabel's 
broken  engagement,  but  Isabel  received  it  frankly  and 
without  embarrassment.  "I  don't  know  that  I'll  ever 
marry  anybody,  Mrs.  Power." 

Mrs.  Power  looked  up  at  her,  as  she  stood  behind 
Daisy's  chair;  and  something  a  little  lonely,  a  Tittle 
aloof  in  the  solitary  figure  and  the  uncommon  face, 
touched  her  motherly  nature. 

"Ah,  my  dear,  I  won't  have  you  saying  that !"  She 
put  out  her  hand  and  took  possession  of  Isabel's.  "I'll 
find  a  husband  for  you — whether  you  like  it  or  not !" 

Isabel  flushed,  her  expression  softening,   her  ej'es 


112  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

lighting  at  the  kindly  thought  for  her  welfare.  "Oh, 
thank  you !"  she  said.  "I  mean,  thank  you  for  caring 
whether  I  get  married  or  not !" 

Mary  gave  a  faint  little  laugh. 

Isabel's  flush  deepened,  but  from  a  new  emotion. 
**Why  did  you  laugh?"  she  said,  turning  quickly 
round. 

Mary  looked  at  her  coolly.  "Oh,  no  reason !  It  just 
amused  me." 

"Why.?" 

*'No  reason !" 

Mrs.  Power  felt  the  hand  she  was  holding  tremble, 
and  she  pressed  it  soothingly.  "Don't  mind  Mary !" 
she  said.  "She  doesn't  mean  half  she  says.  And, 
indeed,  if  you  don't  marry,  it  won't  be  the  men's 
fault.    I'll  venture  to  say  that." 

"I'd  only  marry  for  one  reason,"  Isabel  said  sud- 
denly, "and  if  I  hadn't  that  reason,  all  the  people  in 
the  world  couldn't  persuade  me." 

"And  what's  that.?"  Daisy  asked  curiously. 

*'The  reason  of  caring  for  the  person." 

Daisy  laughed.  "Love  in  a  cottage?"  she  suggested 
a  little  patronisingly. 

Isabel's  dark  eyes  flashed.  "If  I  cared,  I'd  marry 
a  beggar ;  and  if  I  didn't  care,  it  wouldn't  matter  to 
me  if  the  person  was  a  king." 

The  three  listeners  fell  silent  for  a  moment.  To 
Mrs.  Power,  with  her  long  life  and  superior  experi- 
ence, Isabel's  declaration  seemed  merely  the  folly  of 
a  ^ung  girl  just  out  of  school ;  while  to  Daisy  it  ap- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  US 

peared  the  cunning  of  one  who  had  lately  been  worsted 
in  a  vital  social  encounter;  to  Mary  alone  out  of  the 
party,  it  suggested  something  more — offering  sudden 
glimpses  into  the  depths  and  shallows  of  the  nature 
behind  the  words. 

Isabel  looked  round  from  one  face  to  the  other.  "I 
suppose  I  oughtn't  to  have  said  that !" 

Mrs.  Power  laughed  and  patted  her  hand.  "My 
dear  child,  say  anything  you  like!  But  you  have 
plenty  of  time  to  be  thinking  of  love !  And  that  re- 
minds me,  I  told  Josephine  to  write  you  a  little  note, 
asking  you  up  to  tennis.  You  have  seven  boys  of 
mine  still  to  meet,  you  know." 

Isabel  thanked  her  by  a  look ;  and  Daisy,  influenced 
at  once  by  the  fact  of  the  invitation,  drew  her  chair 
nearer. 

"Indeed,  we  all  want  to  see  more  of  Isabel,"  she  said. 
"She  mustn't  be  a  stranger  any  more.  Mary,  will 
you  ring  for  tea?  I  don't  know  what  they  can  be 
doing  downstairs." 

And  so  the  talk  became  less  personal;  and  with  the 
arrival  of  tea,  the  two  married  women  drifted  towards 
the  table  on  which  Julia  placed  the  tray.  As  Daisy 
filled  up  the  cups,  their  voices  imperceptibly  dropped 
to  the  gossiping  key,  and  Isabel  and  Mary  found 
themselves  shut  out  into  an  undesired  companionship. 

Taking  their  cups  from  Daisy,  they  wandered  awaA-^, 
as  in  duty  bound,  towards  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
Mary  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  "I'm  sorry 
if  I  was  nasty  while  ago,"  she  said,  laying  her  cup  on 


114  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

the  top  of  the  piano.  In  the  few  moments  that  had 
passed  since  Mrs.  Power's  invitation,  she  had  decided 
that  a  little  trimming  of  sails  would  be  necessary  if 
her  boat  and  Isabel's  were  to  float  upon  the  same 
waters.  "Everybody  is  a  bit  cross  now  and  then, 
don't  you  think.'*" 

Isabel,  fully  conscious  of  her  own  erratic  moods,  saw 
an  impulse  of  remorse  in  the  words,  and  met  it  gen- 
erously. "  'Twas  nothing !"  she  said.  "I  was  nasty, 
too.     Let  us  forget  about  it !" 

"Yes;  I  want  to.    Do  you  play?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  play  ?" 

"Oh,  no!    I  love  music." 

Mary  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and  began  to  play 
— passing  carelessly  from  classical  music  to  the  new- 
est comic  song.  She  played  well,  almost  brilhantly, 
with  a  hard,  sharp  touch;  and  as  she  played,  she 
looked  up  at  Isabel,  who  was  leaning  over  the  piano 
and  watching  her  with  interested  eyes.  "Is  there  any- 
thing you'd  like.''     I  can  play  most  things  by  ear." 

Isabel  hesitated;  then  she  said,  "Play  that  waltz, 
*Amoureuse.'  " 

Immediately  Mary  complied,  and  after  a  few  bars 
looked  up  again.  "They  played  that  at  Fair  Hill. 
'Twas  the  waltz  you  danced  with  Stephen." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

There  was  another  pause,  and  again  Mary's  quick 
green  eyes  were  lifted.  "How  do  you  get  on  with 
Stephen  ?" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  115 

Isabel  drew  back  a  little.  "Get  on  with  him?  Oh, 
I  don't  know !    All  right,  I  think." 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  him.?" 

"Think  of  him.?     How.?" 

"As  a  person." 

"Oh,  I— I  don't  know." 

Mary  looked  down  at  the  keys,  and  the  waltz  became 
slower.  "He's  a  queer  fish — Stephen !  He  hates  the 
very  sight  of  me." 

"Why?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Perhaps  I  see  through 
him  more  than  other  people  do — and  he  hates  being 
seen  through." 

Isabel's  lips  parted  in  quick  question,  but  they  closed 
again  at  the  sound  of  an  opening  door.  "Oh,  here 
they  are !"  she  said. 

Mary  glanced  over  her  shoulder  at  the  four  men 
entering  the  room.  "Yes,  here  they  are — when  they 
want  their  tea !"  And  the  waltz  came  to  a  conclusion 
with  a  few  crashing  chords. 

The  last  words  of  the  discussion  were  evidently  hot 
upon  the  men's  lips,  and  Norris  and  Father  Cunning- 
ham made  at  once  for  the  tea-table,  where  Tom,  with 
a  careless  nod  to  Daisy,  poured  out  two  cups  of 
tea. 

"Well,  I  think  we  did  for  them!"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.    "We  didn't  leave  Stephen  a  leg  to  stand  on." 

The  young  priest  stirred  his  tea  thoughtfully.  "I 
don't  like  your  brother-in-law's  views,"  he  said. 
"They're  dangerous  views  for  an  influential  man." 


116  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Tom  laughed.  "Oh,  Stephen  doesn't  mean  all  he 
says !" 

"Perhaps  not!    I  hope  not!" 

"Of  course  not!  You're  a  regular  pessimist  some- 
times." 

Father  Cunningham  still  stirred  his  tea  absent-mind- 
edly. 

"He's  a  very  able  man !"  he  said  in  the  same  musing 
undertone. 

"Able  ?  You  may  say  that !  There  are  few  men 
the  equal  of  Stephen,  when  he  cares  to  show  it.  Hallo ! 
They're  not  going,  are  they.''    Is  it  as  late  as  that?" 

*'Indeed,  it  is,  Tom!"  Mrs.  Power  caught  the  last 
words,  as  she  rose  to  say  good-bye.  "It's  time  for  all 
good  people  to  be  thinking  of  their  homes." 

"What  nonsense,  Mrs.  Power !  The  night  is  young  !'* 

"  'Tis,  Tom — for  young  people.  But  'tis  time  for 
me  to  be  thinking  of  my  family." 

"Indeed  you  needn't  trouble  about  your  family! 
You'll  find  them  all  playing  bridge." 

She  laughed  good-naturedly.  "All  the  more  reason 
to  go  home  and  pack  them  off  to  bed.  Good-night, 
Daisy !     It's  been  a  delightful  evening." 

Daisy  protested  prettily:  "Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Power! 
You're  not  going!    Please  don't  go!" 

"I  must,  dear.  I  must,  really.  I  promised  to  be 
back  early.     But  don't  let  me  break  up  the  party!" 

But  the  going  of  one  guest  set  the  minds  of  the 
others  tending  towards  departure,  and  one  by  one  ex- 
cuses were   made.     Father  Cunningham  had  a   six 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  117 

o'clock  mass  to  say  next  morning;  Father  Baron  had 
to  catch  the  last  train  to  Scarragh ;  and  finally  Isabel 
pleaded  that  Miss  Costello  would  be  expecting  her 
soon  after  ten. 

In  a  very  few  minutes  all  the  good-byes  had  been 
said,  and  the  four  women  had  left  to  seek  the  spare 
room  and  the  guests'  wraps. 

"Your  dinners  are  always  such  a  success,  Daisy !" 
Mrs.  Power  murmured,  as  she  tied  her  bonnet-strings. 
"I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  somehow  you  have  the 
knack  of  entertaining." 

Daisy,  who  had  no  more  knowledge  of  entertaining 
than  a  child  of  three,  smiled  delightedly  at  the  harm- 
less flattery.  "Indeed,  I  don't  know!"  she  demurred, 
"I  don't  think  I  do  much!" 

"Ah,  you  say  that!  But  I  must  be  off!  How  is 
Miss  Costello  going  home?  It  would  be  nothing  for 
me  to  drive  round  with  her,  if  she  hasn't  told  anybody 
to  call." 

"Oh,  no !"  Isabel  protested.  "It's  altogether  out  of 
your  way ;  'twas  too  kind  of  you  to  do  it  the  night 
of  the  dance." 

"Not  at  all!  The  horse  hasn't  been  out  before  to- 
day, and  a  little  exercise  would  do  him  good." 

"Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Power,"  Daisy  expostulated.  "Tom 
will  take  Isabel  home." 

Mrs.  Power  smiled  knowingly.  "Ah,  well  then,  I 
wouldn't  take  her  for  the  world !  Good-night,  Daisy, 
dear!  Mary,  I  think  Josephine  is  expecting  you  up 
to-morrow!     Good-night,  my  dear — I'll  have  to  call 


118  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

you  Isabel — Miss  Costello  is  altogether  too  stiff!'* 
She  kissed  all  three  in  turn,  and  then  bustled  out  of 
the  room  and  down  to  the  haU,  where  she  had  another 
effusive  farewell  with  Carey,  Norris,  and  the  two 
priests. 

When  the  door  closed  on  her,  Carey  turned  to 
Daisy.  "Who's  going  to  take  Miss  Costello 
home?" 

*'Tom  is,"  Mary  interposed  before  her  sister  could 
reply. 

"Oh !  All  right !"  Carey  turned  aside  and  j  oined 
Father  Baron ;  while  Mary's  eyes,  maliciously  humor- 
ous, flashed  over  Isabel's  face. 

"It's  too  bad!"  Isabel  said  quickly.  "I  could  easily 
go  by  myself." 

"Oh,  Tom  won't  mind,  I  assure  you !" 

"What's  that,  Polly?" 

"I'm  saying  that  you  don't  particularly  object  to 
seeing  girls  home." 

Tom  laughed.  "Not  if  Miss  Costello  is  one  of  them ! 
Are  you  ready  now,  Miss  Costello?  I  won't  keep  you 
a  minute."  He  disappeared  into  the  recesses  of  the 
hall,  and  returned  with  his  cap  on  and  his  arm 
through  the  sleeve  of  his  coat. 

"Now  we're  ready !"  he  announced  cheerfully.  "Give 
me  a  lift.  Father  John !" 

Father  Cunningham  helped  him  into  his  coat,  while 
Carey  went  forward  to  open  the  hall  door. 

Isabel  kissed  Daisy  and  Mary,  shook  hands  with  the 
priests,  and  then  followed   Tom,  who  had  already 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  119 

stepped  out  into  the  street,  humming  a  patriotic  tune. 
On  the  threshold  Carey  put  out  his  hand. 

"Good-night,  Miss  Costello!  We  hadn't  a  word  at 
all  this  evening." 

Isabel  said  nothing. 

"Next  time,  perhaps !" 

"Perhaps!"  She  looked  up  and  they  both 
smiled. 

"Good-night !" 

"Good-night!"  The  hall  door  closed,  and  she  was 
alone  with  Norris. 

They  turned  out  of  Lady  Lane  in  silence,  but  as 
they  crossed  the  Mall  he  broke  forth  once  more  in 
his  usual  enthusiastic  spirit.  "Well,  Miss  Costello, 
and  what  do  you  think  of  your  native  town,  now  that 
you  are  back  again?" 

"Well,  it  seems  rather  strange,"  Isabel  answered 
thoughtfully, — "or  I  am  strange, — I  don't  know 
which  it  is." 

Tom  nodded  sagely.  "Do  you  know,  I  felt  just  the 
same  myself,"  he  confided  to  her,  "when  I  came  home 
from  college.  There's  no  use  denying  it,  you  know, 
it  seems  a  bit  narrow  at  first." 

"And  you  have  to  squeeze  down  to  fit  it  ?" 

"Ah,  well,  no !  Ah,  no  !  I  wouldn't  say  that.  You 
know,  we're  an  interesting  people.  Miss  Costello, 
wherever  we  are — only  it  doesn't  show  up  at  first  in 
places  like  Waterford." 

Isabel  did  not  at  once  subscribe  to  this,  and  Tom 
branched  off  into  a  new  channel.      "Tell  me,  now," 


120  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

he  said,  "weren't  you  at  school  in  DubHn,  before  you 
went  abroad?" 

"Oh,  yes,  ever  since  my  father  died.  I  only  went 
to  France  two  years  ago." 

**And  did  they  take  any  interest  at  all  there  in  the 
new  movement?  Did  they  open  your  minds  at  all  to 
the  future  of  Ireland?" 

Isabel  laughed.  "I  don't  know  that  they  opened  our 
minds  to  anything." 

"There  you  are !"  Tom  threw  out  his  arms  in  vivid 
despair.  "There  you  are !  How  on  earth  are  we  go- 
ing to  form  the  nation  when  women  are  turned  out 
in  batches  year  by  year  with  French  and  German  at 
their  fingers'  ends,  and  no  more  knowledge  of  their 
own  language  than  infants  in  arms !" 

Isabel  laughed  again.  "I  don't  know  about  fingers' 
ends !"  she  said.  "I  was  able  to  say  my  prayers  in 
French  when  I  went  to  Paris,  but  that  was  about  all." 

"What  a  shame !"  Tom  cried,  following  his  own 
train  of  thought.  "The  most  receptive  years  of  your 
life  lost !  But  it's  not  too  late,  you  know ;  it's  not  too 
late!  I  wish.  Miss  Costello,  you'd  interest  yourself 
in  the  cause.  If  we  could  only  induce  the  educated 
women  to  take  it  up  seriously,  we  could  move  moun- 
tains." 

"And  do  you  think  it  will  do  any  real  good?"  Isabel 
ventured. 

"Good?"  He  turned  on  her,  aflame  with  enthusiasm 
in  a  moment — the  enthusiasm  that  has  sent  Irishmen 
down  to  death  in  the  wake  of  lost  causes  for  more 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  121 

generations  than  one  cares  to  count.  "Good?  Why, 
it's  going  to  make  a  nation  of  us !  It's  going  to  lift 
us  to  the  level  of  the  rest  of  Europe!  It's  the  one 
movement  that  has  really  touched  the  bed-rock  of 
things — ^that  has  a  sound  and  true  foundation.  I'm 
not  tiring  you.'"'  He  looked  up,  as  he  felt  her  steps 
slacken. 

"Oh,  no!  It's  only  that  we're  here.  This  is  my 
aunt's." 

His  face  fell.  "Oh,  I  wish  I  could  have  told  you 
more!  The  walk  was  miserably  short.  But  let  me 
ring  the  bell  for  you !"  He  strode  up  the  little  path 
before  her,  and  rang  the  bell  loudly. 

"Does  it  interest  you  at  all.?"  he  asked,  as  he  turned 
to  say  good-night. 

"Oh,  I  think  it's — it's  most  interesting." 

*'I'm  so  glad.  I'm  so  glad.  I  must  talk  to  you  again. 
Good-bye!  And  thanks  for  a  most  delightful 
walk !"  He  wrung  her  hand  cordially,  and  turned 
away,  as  they  heard  the  chain  being  taken  off  the 
door. 

As  he  walked  down  the  path,  the  door  itself  was 
opened,  and  Miss  Costello's  face  appeared  In  the  aper- 
ture: almost  before  she  had  seen  her  niece,  she  broke 
volubly  into  speech. 

"Oh,  Isabel !"  she  cried.  "I  thought  you'd  never  be 
back!  Such  a  time  as  I  have  had!  There's  a  tele- 
gram for  you  that  came  at  eight  o'clock.  I  half 
thought  of  sending  Lizzie  up  with  it  to  the  Careys', 
but  then  I  didn't." 


122  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Thank  goodness,  you  didn't!"  said  Isabel,  as  she 
walked  into  the  hall. 

"Well,  here  'tis  now,  any  way!"  She  held  out  the 
orange  envelope.  "Open  it!  Open  it,  and  see  what 
it  is !  I  have  an  awful  sort  of  a  feeling  that  it's  from 
Frank." 

"From  Frank?  Nonsense!"  But  Isabel  turned  a 
little  pale  as  she  walked  towards  the  gas-jet,  tearing 
the  envelope  open. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  reading  the  message  with  a 
calm  that  reduced  Miss  Costello  to  despair;  then  she 
held  out  the  thin  pink  paper. 

"You're  quite  right.  Aunt  Teresa!"  she  said  in  a 
dazed  voice.  "It  is  from  Frank.  He's  got  my  letter, 
and  he's  coming  back  to  see  me.  He'll  be  here  to- 
morrow." 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  arrival  of  this  telegram  from  Frank  Carey  had 
something  of  the  force  and  decimating  power  of  a 
bomb  exploding  in  peaceful  surroundings.  Under 
any  circumstances  the  coming  of  a  telegram  causes 
excitement  in  such  households  as  Miss  Costello's ;  but 
when  the  fateful  envelope  holds  within  it  such  news 
as  this,  excitement  cools  before  actual  panic. 

Isabel's  first  desire  was  to  sink  into  the  solitary  chair 
that  graced  the  hall ;  but  that  being  already  in  pos- 
session of  her  aunt,  she  was  forced  to  accept  the  near- 
est substitute,  which  proved  to  be  the  lowest  step  of 
the  stairs ;  and  from  this  coign  of  vantage  she  looked 
out  blankly  upon  the  situation. 

"To-morrow!"  she  ejaculated.  "To-morrow!  That 
means  he'll  get  in  by  the  boat  at  some  unearthly  hour 
in  the  morning !" 

Miss  Costello,  who  was  still  scrutinising  the  tele- 
gram, answered  from  her  own  thoughts.  "He  handed 
this  in  just  before  the  boat  left,"  she  said.  "He's 
actually  on  his  way  now." 

Isabel  made  a  gesture  of  despair.  "What'U  his 
brother  think !"  she  cried.  "He'll  think  I  didn't  prop- 
erly break  it  off.  Oh,  what  on  earth  possessed  him 
to  do  such  a  thing!    What  on  earth  possessed  him!" 

"Your  letter,  of  course !  I  must  say  I  feel  for  the 
poor  fellow!" 


124  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"And  why  should  my  letter  make  him  do  such  a 
thing?  I  think  it's  mean — I  think  it's  downright 
mean — to  come  in  on  us  like  this !  Never  to  give  us  a 
chance  of  writing — never  to  give  us  a  chance  of  stop- 
ping him !"  Her  voice  rose  with  her  distress,  and, 
•urged  to  action,  she  stood  up  suddenly. 

"I  won't  see  him  when  he  does  come !"  she  announced. 
*'I  don't  see  why  I  should!  You  can  see  him  for  me, 
and  tell  him  I  meant  every  word  I  wrote,  and  that 
nothing  in  the  world  would  make  me  take  it  back. 
Why  should  I  have  to  see  him?  Why  should  he  tor- 
ment me  like  this,  just  because  I  don't  want  to  marry 
Jiim?" 

Miss  Costello,  finding  no  pertinent  answer,  resorted 
to  strategy.  "If  you  really  want  to  get  rid  of  him," 
•she  said,  "  'twould  be  ever  so  much  quicker  to  talk  to 
him  yourself.  It's  so  hard  for  another  person  to  get 
a  man  to  see  reason." 

Isabel  considered  the  statement.  "Well,  perhaps  so  !'* 
she  admitted  reluctantly.  "Perhaps  so!  I  suppose 
so !"  She  crossed  the  hall,  took  up  her  bedroom  can- 
dle, and,  to  her  aunt's  unfeigned  surprise,  walked  up- 
stairs without  further  remark. 

That  night  she  slept  but  little,  tossing  from  side  to 
side  of  her  uncomfortable  bed,  and  the  early  hours 
of  the  following  morning  found  her  waiting  in  the 
parlour,  listening  with  high-strung  nerves  to  every 
sound  that  might  presage  the  unwelcome  guest. 

To  those  who  would  call  Isabel  cruel  in  the  meeting 
of  this  crisis,  one  might  point  to  the  law  of  all  created 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  125 

things.  There  is  no  cruelty  in  the  cat  that  crouches, 
all  grace,  all  deft  agilit}"^,  to  pounce  upon  a  bird ;  nor 
is  there  cruelty  in  the  bird,  hopping  bright  and  vig- 
ilant to  destroy  a  lower  life  for  its  own  sustenance. 
Each  is  alive,  and  each  to  the  utmost  limit  of  its  power 
exercises  its  gift.  Such  was  Isabel — to  be  judged  as 
such.  As  she  sat  on  the  old  horsehair  sofa,  her  fingers 
nervously  drumming  out  a  tune  upon  its  slippery 
surface,  there  was  no  regret  in  her  mind — there  was 
scarcely  even  pride  at  the  thought  that  her  sentence 
could  bring  a  man  hurrying  across  two  countries  to 
plead  his  cause  with  her:  her  racing  thoughts  sped 
to  one  question — how  woul3  this  new  contingency 
affect  her  own  life.? 

In  the  midst  of  her  cogitations  a  car  stopped  on 
the  road  outside,  the  garden  gate  clicked  and  swung 
upon  its  hinges,  and  her  fingers  slipped  inert  from 
the  back  of  the  sofa  in  sudden  acknowledgment  that 
the  crisis  was  at  hand. 

She  was  standing  when  the  parlour  door  opened, 
her  arms  hanging  by  her  sides,  her  head  Hfted  in 
nervous  expectancy,  and  almost  before  her  mind  had 
grappled  with  the  situation,  she  caught  a  vision  of 
Lizzie's  face,  scared  and  inquisitive,  and  behind  it 
Frank's — colourless,  jaded,  unfamiliar  from  want  of 
sleep  and  lack  of  a  razor.  It  is  the  details  of  a  scene 
that  call  to  the  imagination  in  critical  moments ;  and 
it  was  the  detail  of  the  unshaven  chin  that  sprang  to 
Isabel's  mind  with  the  rapidity  and  force  of  a  light- 
ning shaft.    It  might  be  subtly  flattering  in  its  testi- 


126  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

mony  of  unsparing  haste,  but  as  a  fact  it  was  revolt- 
ing, chaining  her  feet  to  the  ground,  making  it  im- 
possible even  to  hold  out  her  hand. 

The  door  closed  upon  the  servant;  Frank  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  then  took  an  uneven  step  forward. 

"Isabel!  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me?  I've 
come  all  the  way  from  Paris !"  The  words  were  pa- 
thetic, and  there  was  pathos  in  the  weak,  emotional 
face — in  the  hollow  eyes,  in  the  protruding  lower  lip 
that  seemed  on  the  verge  of  quivering;  but  these 
things  went  down,  marks  as  black  as  the  unshaven 
chin,  against  the  hapless  lover. 

"Isabel!  What  does  it  all  mean?  Haven't  you  a 
word  to  say.'"' 

Then,  and  only  then,  did  Isabel  conquer  her  repug- 
nance. "Oh,  why  did  you  come  back.?"  she  cried  in- 
distinctly.   "Why  did  you  come  back  at  all  ?*' 

"Why.-*  You  know  why!"  He  made  an  ungainly 
forward  movement,  and  caught  one  of  her  hands. 
"Isabel,  what  is  it.?    Don't  try  to  get  away!" 

"Let  me  go,  Frank !     Let  my  hand  go !" 

"No,  I  won't  let  it  go.  I  have  a  right  to  hold  it. 
We're  engaged  still." 

"We  are  not  engaged."  She  wrenched  her  hand 
away. 

"Isabel !  What's  the  meaning  of  it  all.?  It's  Stephen 
who's  done  this !" 

She  flushed  to  her  temples.  "It  is  not!  He  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it!" 

"Then  who  has?" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  127 

"No  one." 

"That's  ridiculous !  Something  must  have  happened 
to  change  you  like  this.  In  Paris  you  cared  for  me — 
in  Paris  you  were  willing  enough  to  marry  me." 

She  stood  with  her  eyes  averted,  an  obstinate  line 
showing  round  her  mouth. 

"Isabel,  some  one  has  done  this !" 

Suddenly  her  glance  flashed  up  to  his.  "Nobody  has 
done  it,"  she  said  sharply.  "If  you  want  to  know 
the  truth,  it's  because  I  don't  care  for  you  any  more 
— because  I'm  tired  of  you — because  I'd  rather  die 
than  marry  you  now !" 

This  onslaught,  so  sudden  and  vehement,  seemed  to 
sober  him,  as  a  shock  might  sober  a  drunken  man. 

He  turned  very  white  and  subsided  into  a  chair  that 
stood  by  the  centre  table.  There  he  sat  for  a  long 
time,  huddled  and  inarticulate,  until  slowly,  imper- 
ceptibly, the  Celtic  flair  for  an  emotional  situation 
prompted  him  to  action.  The  prompting  was  en- 
tirely instinctive,  and  his  response  to  it  entirely  un- 
conscious ;  but  a  world  of  suggestion  was  conveyed  by 
the  slow  straightening  of  his  body,  by  the  slow  move- 
ment of  his  fingers,  as  they  groped  cautiously  towards 
his  waistcoat  pocket  and  fumbled  there  in  a  blind, 
clumsy  search. 

Isabel,  strung  to  emotion  herself,  and  attuned  to 
receive  the  subtlest  Impression,  felt  her  heart  give  a 
hard,  quick  throb. 

"Frank,  what  have  j^ou  there  In  your  pocket  ?  What 
are  you  doing?" 


128  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Nothing." 

**But  I  see  you  fumbling  with  something.  What  is 
it.?     What  is  it?" 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction,  overstrained  and  hysteri- 
cal, flickered  in  Frank's  eyes ;  he  threw  a  glance  of 
triumph  at  her  frightened  face.  "All  right  so!"  he 
said  suddenly.  "I'll  tell  you  what  it  is.  It's  some- 
thing that'll  end  the  business  for  me,  if  you  want  to 
know.  A  fellow  isn't  a  doctor  for  nothing."  He 
pulled  out  a  little  phial  containing  half  a  dozen 
tabloids,  and  held  it  up  before  her. 

It  is  impossible  to  tell  in  what  spirit  of  bravado  or 
youthful  conceit  he  had  provided  himself  with  this 
weapon,  but  he  launched  it  now  with  full  effect. 

"Oh,  no,  a  fellow  isn't  a  doctor  for  nothing !"  he  re- 
peated. "I  have  only  to  swallow  one  of  these,  and 
I  can  tell  you,  women  and  the  rest  won't  matter  much 
to  me !" 

Isabel  stared,  then  she  made  a  little  rush  forward. 

"Frank !    Frank,  don't  be  a  fool !" 

She  had  wrested  the  phial  from  him  before  he 
thought  of  resistance,  and  stood,  half  laughing,  half 
panting. 

"Frank,  Frank,  'tisn't  worth  that !" 

Then  she  paused  again,  newly  dismayed,  for  Frank 
in  a  moment  of  acute  reaction  had  thrown  his  arms 
out  across  the  table,  and  burying  his  face  in  his  sleeve, 
had  broken  suddenly  into  boyish  hysterical  sobs. 

For  a  couple  of  minutes  she  stood  petrified;  then 
a  sense  of  shame  for  him  urged  her  to  words. 


THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  129 

"Frank,  don't !    Don't !    I'm  sorry !" 

"But  do  you  care  for  me,  that's  the  thing?  Do  you 
care  ?" 

She  was  silent. 

"Do  you  care?"  He  lifted  a  face  grotesquely 
marred  by  emotion,  weariness,  and  tears.  "Oh,  you 
don't !  I  can  see  you  don't !  I'm  sick  of  life !"  His 
head  dropped  back  again. 

"No,  Frank,  you're  not !"  She  girded  up  her  cour- 
age and  slipped  the  little  bottle  surreptitiously  into 
her  pocket.  "It's  only  that  you  are  worn  out,  that 
you  don't  know  what  you're  saying." 

He  buried  his  head  still  lower. 

"Frank,  look  here !     Wait  till — ^till  you  have  had 

something    to    eat "       She    looked    distractedly 

round  for  inspiration.  "Wait  till  you  have  had  your 
breakfast,  and  you'll  feel  a  different  person." 

He  looked  up  indignantly.  "Breakfast!  Well,  if 
that  isn't  like  a  woman!  Breakfast,  when  a  fellow's 
life  is  smashed!" 

But  Isabel  glanced  quickly  behind  her,  at  the  same 
moment  giving  his  sleeve  a  jerk,  to  rouse  him  to  self- 
control.  "Frank,  here's  Aunt  Teresa!"  she  whis- 
pered hurriedly.     "Frank,  pull  yourself  together!" 

But  Frank  had  gone  beyond  the  sense  of  shame,  and 
he  turned  towards  the  opening  door  without  attempt- 
ing to  wipe  either  the  tears  or  the  grime  of  travel 
from  his  face. 

"Well,  Miss  Costello,  I  suppose  you  are  against  me,. 
too?" 


130  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

At  sight  of  him  Miss  Costello  threw  up  her  hands  in 
sympathetic  dismay.  "Oh,  my  poor  boy !  My  poor 
boy !     Is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?" 

At  the  unexpected  tone,  Frank's  self-pity  welled  up 
anew.  "I'm  glad  somebody  feels  the  injustice  of  it! 
Though,  so  far  as  I'm  concerned,  it's  all  up  with  me ! 
I'm  done  for!" 

"Oh,  don't  say  that !    Don't  say  that,  Frank !" 

He  shook  his  head.  "  'Tis  the  truth — and  she 
knows  it." 

"Indeed,  I  don't !"  Isabel  broke  in.  "I  hope  you're 
more  of  a  man  than  that." 

Miss  Costello  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in 
tremulous  consternation.  "Oh,  what  an  unfor- 
tunate business  it  all  is!"  she  wailed.  "And  it 
was  all  so  nice  and  settled,  till  that  brother  of 
yours    interfered." 

Frank  flared  up.  "I  thought  so !"  he  cried,  turning 
upon  Isabel.  "I  thought  so!  So  it  is  Stephen  I 
have  to  thank  for  it." 

Isabel  stood  mute  and  rebellious. 

"I  believe  you  weren't  telling  the  truth  while  ago," 
he  added  quickly.  "I  believe  you  care  for  me  all  the 
time,  and  that  Stephen  worked  on  you  and  made  you 
do  it.  Isabel,  tell  me !  Miss  Costello,  ask  her  to  tell 
me!" 

They  both  turned  on  the  girl,  standing  defiant  and 
apart. 

"Isabel,  you  cared  for  me  in  Paris !  Miss  Costello, 
you  know  she  cared  for  me  then !" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  131 

"Indeed  I  do.  Indeed  I  do,  Frank.  Isabel,  why 
can't  you  answer  the  poor  fellow!" 

Still  Isabel  stood  obstinately  mute. 

"Isabel,  was  it  Stephen?  Did  Stephen  play  on 
you?" 

"No!"  She  shot  the  word  at  him  with  fierce  vehe- 
mence. 

"Then  what  was  it?  For  God's  sake,  what  was  it? 
You  can't  throw  a  man  away  like  an  old  glove,  with- 
out any  reason." 

"I  gave  you  a  reason." 

"It  wasn't  enough.  You  can't  tire  of  a  person  in  a 
few  weeks — unless,  of  course," — he  stopped  suddenly, 
and  a  gleam  of  suspicion  lit  his  eyes, — "unless  you 
fall  in  love  with  somebody  else." 

Isabel  turned  on  him,  swiftly  furious,  the  blood 
mounting  to  her  face.     "How  dare  you  say  that!" 

*'I  didn't  say  it.  But  I  believe  now  that  it's  the 
secret — or  why  should  you  get  as  red  as  that?  I 
believe  you're  throwing  me  over  because  there's  an- 
other man." 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  aggressively,  while 
Miss  Costello  turned  aside  to  mutter  an  ejaculatory 
prayer. 

"Some  other  man  has  been  making  love  to  you." 

"No  other  man  has  made  love  to  me." 

"Oh,  Frank,  don't  now!"  put  in  Miss  Costello  agi- 
tatedly. "Sure,  what  other  man  could  she  meet? 
We're  like  nuns  in  a  convent  here." 

"Be  quiet,  Aunt  Teresa !"    Isabel  stamped  her  foot. 


132  THE   FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL 

*'No  man  has  made  love  to  me,"  she  repeated,  looking 

at  Frank. 
"But  you  are  in  love  with  some  man?" 
Her  eyes  flashed  recklessly.  "If  I  said  'yes'  would 

you  leave  me  alone?" 
"I  suppose  I  would,"  he   said   huskily.      "Yes,  I 

would." 
"Very  well,  then !    Think  it,  if  you  like !" 
Without  waiting  for  his  comment,  heedless  of  her 

aunt's  horrified  cry  of  "Isabel !"  she  swung  out  of  the 

room,  banging  the  door  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

With  Isabel's  violent  departure  a  lull  fell  upon  the 
scene — the  dead  lull  that  envelops  the  sailing-ship 
when  the  wind  drops  at  sea.  Such  personalities  as 
hers  are  scarcely  conducive  to  peace,  but  their  with- 
drawal has  a  property  of  making  remaining  things 
seem  singularly  dull. 

With  the  closing  of  the  door,  Frank's  vehemence 
dropped  from  him,  and  he  rose  from  his  seat  in  a  limp, 
inexpressive  way.  "I  suppose  I — I  had  best  go.?"  he 
said  vaguely. 

Miss  Costello  offered  no  assistance.  She  was  look- 
ing nervously  towards  the  door,  while  her  fingers  kept 
locking  and  unlocking. 

"It's  no  good  my  staying  here,  is  it?  I — I  suppose 
I'll  go  down  to  Lady  Lane."  He  pushed  back  his 
chair  and  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  room. 

Miss  Costello,  whose  one  desire  centred  round  the 
thought  of  flight,  jumped  at  the  last  suggestion. 
*'0h,  do!  Do!  I'd  advise  you  to.  There's  nothing 
like  going  to  the  fountain-head." 

He  gave  a  dreary  laugh.  "Well,  she's  the  fountain- 
head — and  you  heard  what  she  said." 

"Oh,  I  did !  I  did,  indeed.  But  I  wouldn't  be  put- 
ting any  pass  on  that  at  all,  Frank.  I  give  you  my 
solemn  pledge  not  another  man  but  you  ever  said  a 
word  to  her.     Have  a  good  talk  with  your  brother, 


134  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

and  'twill  be  all  right  yet,  please  God !"  In  her  anx- 
iety to  be  quit  of  the  situation,  she  was  ready  to 
hold  out  any  hope,  reasonable  or  the  reverse. 

Frank  took  another  turn,  and  then  stopped  opposite 
to  her. 

"Well,  anyway  you  can  tell  her  that,  whoever  he 
is,  he'll  never  care  for  her  more  than  I  did."  He 
took  up  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and,  without  any  at- 
tempt at  farewell,  walked  out  of  the  room. 

Lady  Lane  was  empty,  save  for  one  or  two  loiterers, 
when  the  outside  car  that  had  driven  Frank  from  New 
Town  drew  up  in  front  of  his  brother's  house,  and 
there  were  only  half  a  dozen  pairs  of  eyes  to  observe 
him  get  down  and  walk  slowly  up  the  steps  to  the 
hall  door;  but  Stephen  Carey,  breakfasting  with 
Daisy,  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  and  the  stopping  of 
the  car,  and  looked  up  from  his  morning  paper. 

"Wasn't  that  a  car?" 

Daisy,  whose  mind  was  already  flying  to  possible 
contingencies,  dropped  the  little  bit  of  toast  she  was 
buttering,  and  ran  to  the  window. 

"Oh,  Stephen,  it's  an  outside  car  with  a  bag  and 
a  coat  on  the  seat !  And  there's  the  hall-door  bell ! 
Who  on  earth  can  it  be  at  this  hour.?  And  I'm  in 
this  awful  old  dress!" 

As  she  stood  panic-stricken  at  the  thought  of  an 
unexpected  guest,  the  dining-room  door  opened  with- 
out ceremony  and  Julia  put  her  head  into  the  room. 

"Mr.  Carey,  'tis  Mr.  Frank!"  she  announced  in  a 
voice  charged  with  excitement. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  135 

*'Frank !"  Daisy  cried,  as  Stephen  wheeled  round 
in  his  chair  in  blank  astonishment ;  but  her  surprise 
melted  to  consternation,  as  she  caught  sight  of  the 
apparition  of  weariness  and  despair. 

Carey  rose  abruptly.  "It's  all  right,  Julia!"  were 
his  first  words.  "And  shut  the  door  after  you."  Then 
he  turned  on  his  brother.  "What  the  devil  is  the 
meaning  of  this  .f*" 

By  strong  measures  he  had  played  father  to  the 
six  boys  left  in  his  charge,  for  the  authority  of  an 
elder  brother  is  a  thing  that  needs  upholding;  and 
as  he  looked  down  now  on  the  weak,  jaded  figure  of 
Frank,  the  old  methods  presented  themselves  uncon- 
sciously. 

For  the  first  moment  Frank  cowered;  then  his  out- 
raged sense  of  manhood  struggled  to  the  surface. 
"I  want  fair  treatment,  Stephen,"  he  said  indistinctly. 
"That's  what  I  want." 

"Oh!"  Stephen  was  very  laconic,  very  hard;  and, 
turning  to  Daisy,  he  added  in  the  same  brusque  tone, 
*'If  you've  finished  your  breakfast,  Daisy,  you  may 
as  well  go." 

With  the  utmost  reluctance  Daisy  moved  towards  the 
door.  She  would  have  bartered  many  things  for  the 
privilege  of  overhearing  this  conversation,  but  here 
again  habit  was  strong,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  her 
to  disobey. 

As  she  passed  Frank,  she  held  out  her  hand.  "How 
are  you,  Frank  .P"  she  said  in  her  pretty,  precise  voice. 
She  made  this  proffer  of  friendship  partly  from  the 


136  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

sense  of  conventionality,  but  also  from  an  overmaster- 
ing desire  to  see  his  face  at  closer  quarters. 

He  muttered  some  unintelligible  remark,  and 
dropped  her  hand  almost  as  soon  as  he  had  taken  it. 

"Close  the  door  after  you !"  Stephen  said  remind- 
ingly ;  and  without  further  hesitancy  Daisy  went. 

Left  alone,  the  brothers  faced  each  other,  each 
conscious  that  antagonism  lurked  in  the  other's 
eyes. 

"Well,"  said  Carey  at  last  in  a  measured  way,  "so 
you  have  taken  the  liberty  of  throwing  up  your  studies 
to  come  back  here  and  demand  fair  treatment  ?  Now, 
would  you  mind  telling  me  what  you  call  fair  treat- 
ment.?" 

Frank  visibly  weakened  at  this  deliberate  attack. 
In  a  long  absence  one  is  apt  to  underestimate  the 
strength  of  such  men  as  Carey,  and  to  face  it  again 
with  disorder  of  one's  forces. 

"I  think  I'm — I'm  entitled  to  the  rights  of  a  man, 
Stephen." 

"Indeed!     The  rights  of  a  man?" 

Frank  braced  his  limp  muscles.  "I  mean,  Stephen," 
he  blurted  out,  "that  I'm  not  a  schoolboy — that  I'm 
twenty-three — that  I  have  as  good  a  right  to  live  as 
you — or — or — any  other  man." 

"Did  I  ever  object  to  your  existence.?" 

**0h,  you  know  what  I  mean — that  I  have  as  good  a 
right  as  anybody  else  to  do  what  I  like  with  my  life, 
without  being  bullied  and  threatened  and " 

"Sit  down!"  said  Carey  peremptorily.     "This  isn't 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  137 

a  time  for  heroics.  Tell  me  in  the  fewest  possible 
words  what  in  God's  name  brought  you  back !" 

From  the  instinct  of  long  obedience,  rather  than 
from  any  conscious  admission  of  weakness,  Frank 
subsided  into  the  nearest  chair. 

"Go  on  now!     What  brought  you?" 

"Your  letter." 

"Oh !"     Again  Carey  was  laconic. 

"Yes,  your  letter.  I  know  that  I'm  a  lot  younger 
than  you,  Stephen,  and  I  know  that  I  owe  you  a  lot 
of  money " 

"Steady !     Steady !" 

"Oh,  well,  I  know  that  you've  done  a  heap  for  me. 
But,  all  the  same,  I  couldn't  let  any  man,  even  if  'twas 
mj  own  father,  dictate  to  me  whether  I  am  to  marry 
— and  who  I  am  to  select." 

Carey  was  silent. 

"And  so,  when  I  got  your  letter  and  Isabel's  letter, 
I  knew  that  something  was  wrong,  and  I  came  back 
to  see  what  it  was." 

"And  have  you  found  out?" 

"Yes,  I  have.  I  went  up  to  New  Town  the  first 
thing.     I  saw  her  and  her  aunt." 

"Well.?" 

At  the  thought  of  his  recent  adventure,  Frank's 
bravado  flickered  and  went  out.  "Oh,  what  I  might 
have  expected,  I  suppose.  She  doesn't  want  any  more 
of  me." 

A  fresh  expression  passed  over  Carey's  face,  ban- 
ishing the  aggressive  look.     "Ah,  well,"  he  said  more 


138  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

kindly,  "you  mustn't  be  too  cut  up!"  He  walked 
round  the  table,  and  with  a  new  generosity  put  his 
hand  on  the  other's  shoulder.  "I  suppose  I  was  a 
bit  rough  in  my  letter,  but  then  I  always  am  like  that. 
Cheer  up,  boy!  We'll  be  good  friends  yet,  for  all 
this  business !" 

But  Frank  bent  his  head  and  edged  away  from  the 
friendly  hand.  "It's  no  good,  Stephen !  It's  done  for 
me." 

The  pressure  of  Carey's  hand  became  heavier,  and 
he  twisted  the  boy  round  in  his  seat. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that.?" 

Frank  kept  his  eyes  lowered.  "I  mean  what  I  say. 
I'm  done  for!  I'm  not  going  to  stick  on,  in  the  face 
of  this !" 

Stephen's  brow  darkened  and  the  line  of  his  mouth 
became  hard.  "Look  here,  Frank,"  he  said,  "don't 
come  to  me  with  any  of  that  rot.  It  won't  work  with 
me.  While  you're  in  this  house  you're  going  to  be- 
have as  a  rational  being.  I'll  send  you  upstairs  pres- 
ently to  have  a  hot  bath  and  a  shave.  And  to  show 
how  little  I  give  for  your  threats,  I'll  lend  you  one  of 
my  razors !" 

The  cool,  sarcastic  tone  stung  Frank  out  of  his 
lethargy,  as  Carey  had  meant  it  should. 

"I  think  you're  a  brute !"  he  blurted  out.  "And  she's 
as  bad." 

Carey  laughed.  "Come,  come !  Be  a  man ! 
As  for  the  girl,  she's  thinking  of  you  more  than 
of  herself." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  139 

Frank  gave  a  bitter  echo  of  the  laugh.  "Of  me,  in- 
deed!    That's  all  you  know  about  it." 

"I  know  she's  a  sight  too  good  for  jou !  She's  got 
more  spirit  and  sense  than  ever  you  will  have." 

"Spirit !  Sense !  If  that  was  all,  do  you  think  I'd 
care .''  Do  you  think  I'd  give  in  like  this  ?  It's  being 
thrown  away  like  an  old  glove — chucked  for 
some  other  fellow — that  takes  the  heart  out  of 
you !" 

In  the  pause  that  followed,  Carey  turned  away  and 
walked  slowly  to  the  mantelpiece.  "Another  fellow.'"' 
he  said.    "What  do  you  mean  by  that.?" 

Frank  was  too  absorbed  to  notice  anything  of  the 
tone  in  which  the  words  were  said.  "I  mean  what  I 
say — no  more  and  no  less,"  he  said.  "If  you  think 
it's  sense  that  has  made  her  do  this,  you  know  very 
little  about  women." 

"That's  quite  probable." 

"The  less  the  better  for  you !  Spirit  and  sense,  in- 
deed! Why,  with  her  own  lips  she  told  me  that  she 
doesn't  care  a  brass  farthing  for  me — ^that  she's 
throwing  me  over  for  somebody  else." 

Carey  leant  his  elbow  on  the  mantelpiece.  "And  who 
is  the  somebody  else.?" 

"You  may  be  sure  I  didn't  ask.  What  does  it  matter 
whether  it's  Willie  Neville  or  Owen  Power,  or  who  the 
devil  it  is,  so  long  as  it  isn't  me?" 

Carey  turned  round  abruptly.  "Do  you  think  that 
a  girl  like  that  would  throw  herself  away  on  an  ass 
like  Neville  or  an  empty-headed  coxcomb  like  Power?" 


140  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Why  not?  Power  is  a  lady's  man.  Ask  Daisy  or 
Mary  if  he  isn't!'* 

"But  it's  ridiculous  on  the  face  of  it!  She  hasn't 
seen  any  of  them  half  a  dozen  times !" 

Frank  gave  another  of  his  dreary  laughs.  "A  lot 
that  has  to  do  with  it!  I  only  met  her  three  times, 
when  I  was  crazed  about  her." 

Carey  stood  pondering  these  words  of  wisdom. 

"That's  the  way  with  women!"  Frank  broke  out 
again.  *'You  see  if  she  isn't  engaged  before  a  month 
is  out!  After  all,  Power  is  a  better  match  than  me, 
any  day!" 

"That'U  do,  Frank!  That'Udo!  We've  had  enough 
of  this."  Stepping  to  the  side  of  the  fireplace,  Carey 
pulled  the  bell  peremptorily. 

The  door  opened  with  suspicious  alacrity,  and  Julia 
appeared. 

"Take  Mr.  Frank  up  to  my  room,"  he  ordered. 
"Get  him  some  hot  water  for  shaving,  and  then  fill  the 
bath!" 

For  a  moment  Frank  looked  as  though  about  to  re- 
bel, but  a  glance  at  Julia's  inquisitive  face  deterred 
him,  and  he  rose  mechanically. 

"I  won't  want  any  breakfast,  Stephen,"  he  said,  "so 
you  needn't  order  any." 

"All  right !"  Carey  agreed  unfeelingly.  "We'll  call 
you  for  lunch." 

As  the  door  closed,  he  turned  back  again  to  the  fire- 
place, and  his  expression  was  a  curious  mingling  of 
irritation  and  eome  other  motion,  less  easily  defined. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  141 

With  a  wide,  characteristic  gesture,  he  threw  out  his 
arms  and,  resting  both  elbows  on  the  mantel-board, 
stood  staring  down  into  the  grate.  For  a  while  he  re- 
mained in  this  attitude  of  thought ;  then,  with  an  ab- 
rupt movement,  he  threw  up  his  head,  as  though  im- 
patience of  the  world  had  concentrated  into  im- 
patience of  himself. 
"Pshaw !    Women !"  he  said  with  deep  disgust. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

It  was  not  for  a  moment  to  be  supposed  that  such  a 
piece  of  news  as  Frank  Carey's  sudden  return,  with 
all  its  subsequent  developments,  could  be  lost  to 
Waterford  ears.  By  eleven  o'clock  half  the  Careys' 
friends  were  posted  in  details  of  the  affair,  true  or 
false  as  the  case  might  be;  and  at  half -past  eleven 
Mary  Norris  appeared  at  Lady  Lane,  alert  to  follow 
the  trail  of  gossip. 

It  was  Daisy  herself  who  opened  the  door  to  her 
familiar  knock;  and,  taking  her  arm  in  mysterious 
silence,  she  drew  her  into  the  now  empty  dining-room. 

"Well,"  she  said,  breathless  with  her  own  news,  "have 
you  heard  anything?" 

Mary  pulled  off  her  chamois  gloves  and  tossed  them 
on  to  the  table,  where  the  remains  of  breakfast  bore 
witness  to  a  demoralised  household. 

"Anything?"  she  said.  "Well,  I  should  think  I 
have !" 

"Wait  a  minute!"  Daisy  ran  back  and  closed  the 
door  carefully.  "Now,  what  is  it?  What  are  people 
saying?" 

"Saying?    What  aren't  they  saying?" 

"Oh,  Mary,  what?" 

"Well,  first  of  all,  the  Buckleys  joined  me  after 
mass,  simply  brimming  over  with  curiosity,  and  asked 
me  if  it  was  true  that  Frank  Carey  had  met  Isabel 


THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  143 

Costello  while  she  was  at  school  and  had  followed  her 
over  here,  and  that  Miss  Costello  herself  had  turned 
him  out  of  the  house  at  nine  o'clock  this  morning? 
That  was  bad  enough,  goodness  knows !  but  then,  just 
as  I  was  coming  down  Lady  Lane,  who  should  rush 
out  at  me  but  that  horrid  old  Miss  Green  to  say  that 
she  had  heard  Frank  was  barely  recovering  from 
malaria  and  had  been  ordered  back  to  his  native  air, 
and  that  she  had  seen  him  herself  arriving  this  morn- 
ing, looking  like  a  person  risen  from  the  grave!  Oh, 
Pve  had  a  time  of  it,  I  can  tell  you !  But  what's  the 
truth,  Daisy?  What  on  earth  is  it?  Is  he  honestly 
here?" 

Daisy  had  sunk  into  a  chair  under  the  weight  of  her 
sister's  information,  and  now  she  looked  up  with  be- 
wildered eyes.  "Oh,  yes,  it's  true  enough!  He's  up- 
stairs now,  walking  up  and  down  his  room  and  groan- 
ing out  loud.     I  think  he's  half  off  his  head." 

Mary  made  a  gesture  of  contempt.  "Frank  always 
was  a  fool!  But  what  on  earth  has  brought  him 
back?" 

"Honestly,  I  hardly  know!  Stephen  was  so  cross 
after  being  shut  in  here  with  him  for  half  an  hour, 
that  he  banged  out  of  the  house  as  if  everything  in 
the  world  was  upside  down." 

"And  didn't  he  explain?    Didn't  he  say  anything?" 

"Oh,  I  saw  him  for  about  two  minutes,  and  he  just 
muttered  something  about  Frank  being  an  ass,  who 
couldn't  take  'No,'  for  an  answer — and  that  I  was  to 
hold  my  tongue  about  the  whole  business." 


144  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Upon  my  word!"  was  Mary's  expressive  comment. 
Then  she  turned  her  head  sharply.  "Hallo,  Daisy! 
Wasn't  that  the  hall-door  bell?" 

Daisy  looked  aghast.  "Oh,  no,  surely!  Would  I 
have  time  to  run  upstairs?" 

"You  wouldn't;  I  hear  Julia  opening." 

"Heavens !  And  if  it's  anybody,  she'll  have  them 
in  here  in  two  seconds!  And  look  at  the  state  I'm 
in !  And  look  at  the  table !"  Her  voice  quivered  with 
consternation. 

Mary  held  up  a  warning  finger.  "Listen !  I  be- 
lieve it's  Mrs.  Power !    Yes,  it  is !" 

*'0h,  how  absolutely  sickening !  What  an  idiot  Julia 
is!"  Then  Daisy  turned,  all  smiles,  as  the  dining- 
room  door  opened. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Power !    How  are  you !" 

Mrs.  Power  came  forward  with  both  hands  out,  and 
kissed  her  effusively.  "My  dear !"  she  cried,  "I  can't 
tell  you  how  relieved  I  am  to  see  you  looking  so  well ; 
I  hear  you've  gone  through  a  terrible  lot !  How  are 
you,  Mary !  I  saw  you  at  mass ;  but  you're  like  quick- 
silver, I  can  never  overtake  you.  And  now,  Daisy, 
what  on  earth  is  it  all  about?" 

Daisy  drew  forward  a  chair,  at  the  same  time  trying 
distractedly  to  decide  how  much  she  should  reveal  and 
how  much  she  should  withhold.  "Won't  you  sit  down, 
Mrs.  Power!" 

"Thank  you,  dear!  And  now  tell  me  everything 
from  the  very  beginning." 

Here  Mary  stepped  into  the  breach.     "But,  Mrs. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  145 

Power,"  she  said,  "the  worst  of  it  is  that  we  know  so 
little  ourselves.  Won't  you  first  tell  us  what  you 
have  heard?" 

"Heard?  My  goodness,  Mary!  What  haven't  I 
heard?  But  just  tell  me,  Daisy,  is  it  really  true  that 
he  met  her  in  Paris  and  fell  in  love  with  her  there?" 

"He  did  meet  her  in  Paris  with  her  aunt,"  Daisy 
admitted  guardedly. 

"And  are  they  engaged?  Do  tell  me  that!  Are 
they  engaged?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Power.     They  are  not." 

Mrs.  Power  leant  back  in  her  chair.  ''Exactly  what 
I  said  myself!  It's  just  the  gossip  of  a  place  like 
this.  But  there  you  are !  You  can't  stop  people  say- 
ing nasty  things." 

"What  about?"  Daisy  was  up  in  arms.  "What 
about,  Mrs.  Power?" 

"Oh,  well,  'tisn't  worth  noticing  things  like  that.  I 
never  listen  to  them  myself." 

"Still,  I'd  rather  know  them.  What  are  people  say- 
ing?" 

"Oh  well,  indeed,  Daisy,  they're  saying  things  about 
you  and  Stephen.     But,  as  I  say " 

"About  us?" 

"About  Daisy?"  Mary  cried.  "What  on  earth  for?" 

Mrs.  Power  arranged  the  strings  of  her  bonnet. 
"Well,  I'll  give  it  to  you,  word  for  word.  What  I 
heard  was  that  Frank  and  Isabel  Costello  were  en- 
gaged, and  that  when  Isabel  came  back  to  Water- 
ford,  Daisy  put  her  foot  down  and  wouldn't  hear  of 


146  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

the  match  because  she  has  no  money ;  and  that  Stephen 
vas  seen  going  into  Miss  Costello's  on  Sunday  after 
last  mass.  Mind  you,  Fm  only  repeating  what  I 
heard!" 

*'0h !"  Daisy  stamped  her  foot  with  vexation.  "Oh, 
how  annoying !    How  sickening  !'* 

"Of  course  it  is,  my  dear!    But  there  you  are!" 

"I  wonder  if  Isabel  herself  spread  the  story!" 

"Oh,  fie,  Mary !    As  if  she'd  do  such  a  thing !" 

Mary  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Oh,  how  annoying!  How  annoying!"  Daisy  said 
again. 

"Ah,  now  don't !  You'll  make  me  sorry  I  told  you  at 
all.  Make  the  best  of  it!  Make  up  your  mind  what 
you're  going  to  do  P' 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do.    Stephen  will  be  furious." 

"Will  I  give  you  a  bit  of  advice.'"' 

"Do!  Oh,  do!  You're  awfully  good  at  knowing 
the  right  thing."  Daisy  revived  at  the  prospect  of 
help. 

"Well,  then,  my  advice  is  to  be  as  nice  as  ever  you 
can  to  Isabel.  Ask  her  here  while  you  are  in  town; 
and  as  soon  as  you  go  out  to  Kilmeaden  have  her  to 
stay  with  you  there." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Power,  not  Kilmeaden!"  Mary  cried. 
**She  needn't  have  her  at  Kilmeaden !" 

"And  why  not,  dear?" 

"Because  Daisy  always  has  who  she  likes  there.  It's 
the  country  and — ^and ^'* 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Mary!"  Daisy  objected  suddenly. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  147 

"Perhaps  Mrs.  Power  is  right.  After  all,  if  we  have 
her  here,  people  won't  notice  it  so  much;  but  if  we 
ask  her  to  Kilmeaden  they'll  say  she  must  certainly 
be  friends  with  us." 

"That's  it,  Daisy!  That's  what  I  say.  And  now, 
like  a  good  girl,  tell  me  about  Frank.  He  really  is 
here,  isn't  he?" 

"Oh,  yes ;  he's  upstairs  now !  He  wanted  a  rest,  you 
know,  after  the  journey." 

"Poor  fellow!  To  be  sure  he  did!  I  suppose 
Stephen  is  delighted  to  have  him  back?" 

"Oh— oh,  yes !    Delighted." 

"And,  Daisy,  dear "  Mrs.  Power  drew  her  chair 

close  to  Daisy's  and  dropped  her  voice  to  the  confi- 
dential key.  "Daisy,  dear,  tell  me  now  if  it's  at  all 
true  that  he's  really  in  love  with  her?" 

Daisy  hesitated,  mindful  of  Stephen's  warning, 
mindful  too  of  Mary's  deterring  eyes;  then  the  un- 
speakable joy  of  imparting  such  a  story  broke  down 
all  barriers. 

"Mrs.  Power,"  she  said,  "it's  the  most  deadly  se- 
cret, and  there  isn't  another  person  living  that  I'd 
tell  it  to ;  but  if  you'll  give  me  your  solemn  promise 

not  to  breathe  a  word  of  it "     And  so  the  story 

was  told. 

Before  a  week  had  passed  all  Waterford  knew  for  a 
certainty  that  Isabel  Costello  and  Frank  Carey  had 
seriously  contemplated  marriage;  and  that,  for  some 
unknown  reason,  Frank  had  returned  unexpectedly 
to  his  native  town,  and  was  now  in  hermit-like  seclu- 


148  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

sion  in  Lady  Lane — with  his  engagement,  and  pre- 
sumably his  heart,  irrevocably  broken.  Now,  Avhat- 
ever  the  secret  streams  that  may  issue  from  a  wound 
dealt  by  Cupid,  only  one  expression  of  opinion  is  likely 
to  be  obtained  from  the  public — a  deep  and  pro- 
tracted study  of  the  lady  in  the  case.  So  while  Frank, 
lovelorn  and  disconsolate,  pined  in  his  solitude,  Isabel 
saw  new  vistas  opening  in  her  social  world,  and  the 
ten  days  that  followed  the  eventful  morning  found 
her  playing  tennis  at  the  Powers',  croquet  at  the 
Burkes',  and  being  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of 
cards  at  the  Nevilles'  and  the  Norris's.  Everywhere 
she  went  she  was  stared  at,  whispered  about,  and  made 
much  of — for  a  girl  who  has  broken  an  engagement 
in  an  atmosphere  where  marriage  is  not  easy  of  at- 
tainment must  of  necessity  have  a  claim  to  considera- 
tion. There  is  a  good  deal  of  the  child  in  the  Celtic 
nature,  in  the  sense  that  the  eyes  and  the  ears  are 
caught  by  the  passing  show;  and  that,  also  like  the 
child,  the  sound  of  a  new  drum  will  send  the  feet  rac- 
ing down  a  side  street  at  the  heels  of  a  fresh  crowd. 
Some  of  the  mothers  may  perhaps  have  had  secret  mis- 
givings, wondering  in  their  own  minds  whether  it  was 
entirely  right  that  a  girl  should  be  socially  in  evi- 
dence while  her  rejected  lover  was  in  the  same  town; 
but  if  they  had  doubts,  their  sons  had  none,  and  their 
daughters,  from  sentiment  or  expediency,  saw  fit  to 
have  none  either — and  Isabel  was  the  attraction  of 
the  hour. 
For  Isabel  herself  this  success  was  not  without  re- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  149 

suit.  As  on  the  night  of  her  first  dance,  she  expanded 
in  the  sun  of  admiration,  as  the  butterfly  spreads  its 
wings  to  the  summer  heat.  On  a  larger  stage  she  en- 
acted again  the  scene  that  Carey's  first  coming  had 
interrupted  on  the  night  at  Fair  Hill,  when  the  little 
group  of  men  had  clamoured  for  her  programme.  In 
those  pleasant  days  she  tasted  adulation  for  the  first 
time,  knowing  the  joy  of  giving  and  withholding, 
seeing  the  moves  in  that  subtle  game  where  the  head 
directs  while  the  heart  beats  steady ;  and  all  the  time 
there  was  the  consciousness  that,  sooner  or  later,  the 
real  man  would  step  out  from  this  background  of 
shadows,  drawing  her  with  him  into  the  real  world; 
and  as  she  laughed  and  talked  and  jested  this  con- 
sciousness was  alive, — a.  flame  burning  out  of  sight, 
ready  to  leap  up  and  scorch.  Some  day,  some  mo- 
ment, the  call  would  come,  and  her  nature  would  flow 
out,  an  unsluiced  current  flooding  towards  the  sea. 
And  in  the  meantime.''  In  the  meantime,  she  was 
young  and  she  was  alive ! 


CHAPTER  XV 

Although  Isabel  had  been  going  to  and  fro  for 
nearly  a  fortnight  in  the  Careys'  intimate  circle,  she 
had  heard  no  definite  news  of  Frank.  Either  from 
that  hyper-sensitiveness  that  the  Irish  feel  about  ap- 
proaching a  delicate  subject,  or  because  there  was 
no  real  friendship  to  warrant  the  intrusion,  people 
avoided  the  matter  altogether  or  skirted  carefully 
round  it  when  she  happened  to  be  present;  so,  al- 
though she  knew  vaguely  that  Frank  was  still  at  Lady 
Lane,  she  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  mental  conflict 
that  was  going  forward  between  the  brothers. 

Carey  she  had  not  seen  since  the  night  of  the  din- 
ner-party ;  from  Frank  himself  no  word  came ;  and 
Mary  and  Daisy  preserved  a  resolute  silence  on  the 
subject. 

It  was  not  until  the  eleventh  day  that  the  position 
was  made  clear  to  her.  She  had  been  playing  tennis 
all  the  afternoon,  and  only  returned  to  New  Town  to 
hurry  through  the  tea,  that  in  such  households  as  Miss 
Costello's  takes  the  place  of  dinner,  before  changing 
her  dress  for  an  evening  party  at  Fair  Hill.  She 
was  flushed  with  exercise  and  in  high  spirits  when 
she  entered  the  house,  and  the  gay  tune  of  a  song  that 
had  caught  her  fancy  rose  to  her  lips  as  she  crossed 
the  little  hall  and  laid  her  tennis  racket  on  the  old- 
-fashioned hat-stand. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  151 

"Miss  Isabel,"  ventured  the  slovenly  maid  who  had 
admitted  her,  "there's  a  letter  for  you.  It  come  by 
the  last  post,  an'  I  put  it  in  the  drawer  in  the 
stand." 

"For  me,  Lizzie?  Who  from,  I  wonder!"  Isabel 
hastily  pulled  the  drawer  open  and  took  up  the  en- 
velope bearing  her  name.  The  handwriting  was  un- 
familiar, but  the  post-mark  was  Waterford,  and  her 
first  feeling  was  of  relief  that  at  least  it  was  not  from 
Frank.  Then  suddenly,  by  the  suggestion  of  ideas, 
a  flash  of  intuition  enlightened  her:  she  blushed,  and 
with  an  almost  nervous  haste  put  the  letter  unopened 
into  her  pocket. 

"Is  tea  ready,  Lizzie?" 

Lizzie,  who  cherished  romantic  ideas,  looked  disap- 
pointed.    "Oh,  yes,  miss !    Tea  is  on,"  she  said. 

"Is  Aunt  Teresa  in  the  parlour?" 

"Yes,  miss ;  she's  goin'  on  wid  it." 

Isabel  received  the  information  with  a  nod,  and 
passed  into  the  little  sitting-room. 

At  sound  of  her  entry  Miss  Costello  looked  up  from 
her  meal,  which  consisted  of  strong  tea,  bread  and 
butter,  and  a  boiled  egg.  "Well,  Isabel!"  she  said, 
"you  seem  very  pleased  with  yourself.  Did  you  win 
the  game  of  tennis?" 

At  another  time  Isabel  would  have  replied  that  she 
had  played  seventeen  games  and  won  eleven ;  but  now 
she  merely  walked  round  the  table  and  imprinted  a 
kiss  on  Miss  Costello's  forehead. 

"I  did  grandly,  auntie,     'Twas  a  lovely  day." 


152  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Who  was  there?  Will  you  have  an  egg  for  your 
tea,  or  would  you  like  a  chop  cooked?" 

"An  egg  will  do."  Isabel  seated  herself  and  began 
to  cut  a  round  of  bread  from  the  loaf  on  the  table. 

"Well,  and  who  was  there?  I  never  knew  such  a 
girl!    You  don't  tell  a  person  a  thing." 

"Oh,  auntie,  indeed  I  do!" 

"Well,  then,  who  was  there  to-day?"  Miss  Costello 
rose  and,  opening  the  door,  called  down  the  passage 
"Lizzie,  boil  another  egg !" 

"Well?"  she  repeated,  as  she  seated  herself  again. 

"Oh,  let  me  see!  The  Nevilles  and  the  Cranes  and 
some  of  the  Power  boys — and  Mary  Norris." 

"And  who  did  you  play  with?" 

"With  Willie  Neville  some  of  the  time,  and  some 
of  the  time  with  Owen  Power." 

"With  Owen  Power?  And  how  did  Mary  Norris 
like  that?  Everybody  said  last  year  that  he  was  go- 
ing in  for  her." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  he  spoke  two  words  to  her  to- 
day." 

Miss  Costello's  black  eyes  took  a  hurried  survey  of 
her  niece.  "Isabel,"  she  said  severely,  "I  hope  you're 
not  a  flirt." 

"Aunt  Teresa !"  Isabel's  temper  flared  up,  and  then, 
for  some  mysterious  reason,  died  down  again,  and  was 
replaced  by  a  sunny  laugh.  "Why,  auntie  ?"  she  sub- 
stituted in  a  coaxing  voice. 

"Because  you  ought  to  be  very  careful  after  what 
has  happened." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  153 

"Why?" 

"Because  people  might  talk." 

At  this  juncture  Lizzie  entered  with  the  egg)  and 
Isabel  was  helped  to  a  cup  of  the  strong  tea ;  but  im- 
mediately they  were  alone  again  she  reverted  to  the 
subject. 

"Auntie,"  she  said,  "I  told  you  before  that  I  don't 
mind  one  scrap  whether  people  talk  or  not.  I  sup- 
pose it's  my  nature,  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  to  mat- 
ter, as  long  as  you  can  please  yourself  and  be  happy, 
whether  people  speak  about  you  or  don't.  I  try  and 
try  to  work  myself  up  into  being  terrified  of  their 
talk,  but  it's  no  good.  I  can't."  She  paused  in  her 
healthy  consumption  of  bread  and  butter,  and  stared 
into  her  aunt's  face  with  hei*  bright,  eager  eyes.  "Am 
I  very  queer.  Aunt  Teresa.'"' 

Miss  Costello  stirred  her  tea  nervously,  for  she  dis- 
liked these  searching  questions.  "Well,  any  priest 
will  tell  you  that  you  must  consider  your  neighbours !" 

*'I  know.  But  supposing  your  neighbours  don't 
seem  half  as  real  to  you  as  you  seem  to  yourself.? 
Supposing  you  can't  keep  thinking  of  whether  this 
is  wrong,  or  that  is  wrong,  no  matter  how  hard  you 
try?" 

"Your  conscience  will  tell  you  that." 

Isabel  was  silent  for  a  moment:  then  the  question- 
ing glance  flashed  back  to  her  aunt's  face.  "Auntie, 
what  exactly  is  conscience?" 

Miss  CosteUo  dropped  her  spoon  in  perfectly  un- 
affected horror.     "Good  gracious,  child!     You  don't 


154  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

mean  to  tell  me  that  the  nuns  didn't  teach  you 
that?" 

"Of  course  they  taught  me  in  a  set  sort  of  a  way, 
but  that's  not  what  I  mean  at  all !  I  mean  how  do  you 
really  and  truly  know  when  a  thing  is  right  or 
wrong?" 

Miss  Costello's  lips  tightened.  "Do  you  mean  to 
say  you  don't  know  when  you  commit  a  sin?" 

"Oh,  I'd  know  if  I  told  a  lie,  and  I'd  know  if  I 
stole  anything,  of  course,  because  'twould  be  a  fact, 
and  I  couldn't  help  knowing  it.  But  what  I  mean  is 
that  I  don't  feel  things  to  be  wrong  here."  She 
touched  her  breast  lightly.  "I  remember  the  nuns  in 
Dublin  used  to  talk  about  people  having  'qualms  of 
conscience,'  but  I  never  really  understood  what  it 
meant.    Am  I  very  queer?" 

Miss  Costello  finished  her  tea  hurriedly.  "Yes,  you 
are,"  she  said  agitatedly ;  "and  a  young  girl  like  you 
has  no  business  at  all  to  talk  about  such  things.  Leave 
them  to  those  that  know  better."  She  set  down  her 
cup  with  a  rattle  and,  leaving  her  niece  to  ponder  her 
words  of  wisdom,  walked  out  of  the  room. 

Left  alone,  Isabel  took  her  letter  from  its  hiding- 
place  and  looked  at  it,  turning  it  over  and  over  in  her 
hand ;  then  with  a  little  smile,  meant  for  herself  alone, 
she  slipped  it  back  into  her  pocket  and  finished  her 
tea  with  a  certain  slow  enjoyment. 

In  her  own  room,  with  the  door  locked,  she  at  last 
felt  free  to  dethrone  imagination  for  reality,  and, 
sitting  on  the  side  of  her  bed,  she  drew  the  letter 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  155 

forth  once  more  and  slowly  opened  the  envelope.  A 
minute  sufficed  for  the  reading  of  the  enclosure,  a 
very  short,  very  commonplace  note,  which  merely 
ran — 

"Dear  Miss  Costello, — I  have  at  last  brought  my 
brother  to  see  reason,  and  he  will  go  back  to  Paris  to- 
night. I  did  not  write  before,  because  I  had  nothing 
definite  to  report. — Believe  me,  sincerely  yours, 

"Stephen  Caeey." 

The  first  feeling  that  coursed  through  her  mind  was 
keen  disappointment:  the  curtness,  the  formality  of 
the  letter  came  like  sharp  blows  on  the  malleable  soil 
of  her  sensitiveness.  He  might  have  said  a  word  of 
gratitude!  He  might  have  sent  one  kind  message! 
She  sprang  from  the  bed  in  sudden  anger,  tossed  the 
letter  upon  the  dressing-table,  and  with  quick,  resent- 
ful movements  began  to  take  down  her  thick  black 
hair  and  re-dress  it  for  the  night's  festivity.  Her 
fingers  worked  rapidly,  brushing,  coiling,  pinning, 
the  long  black  strands,  until  at  last  the  work  was 
done ;  then,  with  the  same  resentful  haste,  she  slipped 
off  the  blue  cotton  skirt  she  had  been  wearing,  and, 
throwing  open  the  door  of  her  wardrobe,  stood  con- 
sidering what  she  should  put  on.  The  choice  was  not 
very  extensive:  she  looked  at  the  white  cashmir  and 
the  blue  serge,  her  uniform  dresses  that  had  been 
lengthened  for  her  by  a  New  Town  dressmaker  since 
her  return  from  school,  but  both  were  instantly  con- 


156  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

demned ;  next  came  the  pink  muslin,  but  that  had  seen 
considerable  service  in  the  last  few  weeks  and  already 
drooped  pathetically;  next,  she  scanned  a  couple  of 
blouses,  and  a  black  alpaca  skirt  that  had  belonged  to 
her  aunt,  but  her  eye  was  full  of  disfavour,  and  turned 
instinctively  to  the  last  remaining  garment — a  plain, 
mauve,  linen  dress,  more  suitable  for  morning  than 
for  evening  wear,  but  which  fitted  her  well,  and  found 
added  value  in  her  estimation  by  reason  of  being  her 
latest  acquisition. 

She  had  worn  this  dress  on  the  morning  of  her  in- 
terview with  Frank,  and  at  another  time,  perhaps, 
the  disagreeable  association  would  have  made  her 
shrink  from  it;  but  to-night  her  anger  and  disap- 
pointment gave  immunity  from  such  superstition, 
and  without  hesitation  she  took  the  skirt  from  its  hook 
and  slipped  it  over  her  head.  A  few  minutes  com- 
pleted her  preparations ;  and  with  a  last  glance  into 
the  mirror  at  her  flushed  face  and  rebellious  eyes,  she 
took  her  way  towards  the  door;  but  at  the  door  she 
stopped,  hesitated,  and  with  an  air  half -defiant,  half- 
shy,  went  back  to  the  dressing-table  and  picked  up 
Carey's  offending  letter.  As  if  ashamed  of  her  weak- 
ness, she  thrust  it  surreptitiously  into  her  pocket ;  and 
as  it  slipped  into  the  hidden  recess,  her  fingers  touched 
something  smooth  and  cold,  and  the  expression  of  her 
face  altered  suddenly — memory  striving  with  sur- 
prise, as  she  withdrew  her  hand  and  brought  to  light 
the  little  bottle  she  had  wrested  from  Frank  a  week 
ago,  and  had  forgotten  in  the  stress  of  newer  events. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  157 

She  stood  for  a  moment,  unpleasantly  moved  by  the 
sight  of  this  small  object.  With  the  fascination  of 
all  deadly  things,  the  harmless-looking  tabloids  held 
her  gaze :  she  looked  at  them  with  a  close,  repugnant 
curiosity;  she  shook  the  bottle  until  they  rattled 
against  the  glass ;  she  even  withdrew  the  cork  and  al- 
lowed one  to  roll  out  upon  her  palm. 

She  looked  at  it,  as  it  lay  there, — one  key  of  the 
many  that  could  open  the  great  gate, — and  for  a  mo- 
ment the  shadow  of  its  potency  fell  on  her  chillingly. 
The  personal  contemplation  of  death  had  always  been 
abhorrent  to  her;  with  an  almost  superstitious  dread, 
her  keen  vitality  had  always  recoiled  from  it.  Death 
existed,  certainly !  Existed  for  the  old,  for  the  ex- 
hausted, for  the  unfit,  but  not  for  health  and  youth — 
not  for  such  as  she ! 

She  stood  for  a  moment  longer,  magnetised  by  the 
small  white  tabloid  in  her  hand:  then,  by  some  curi- 
ous working  of  the  mind,  an  overwhelming  repug- 
nance surged  over  her ;  she  dropped  it  back  among  its 
fellows,  ran  across  the  room  to  a  cupboard  in  the 
wall,  and,  thrusting  the  bottle  into  a  drawer,  locked 
it  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Many  emotions  chased  each  other  through  Isabel's 
mind  as  she  made  her  way  to  Fair  Hill;  and  as  she 
walked  into  the  room  set  aside  for  the  guests'  wraps, 
the  little  group  of  girls  already  assembled  glanced 
round  at  her  expressive  face  with  the  mingled  curi- 
osity, admiration,  and  uncertainty  that  she  always 
aroused. 

Mary  Norris,  who  had  taken  up  her  position  at  the 
dressing-table,  saw  her  in  the  mirror,  and  addressed 
her  without  turning  round.  "Hallo,  Isabel !  Is  that 
a  new  dress.?" 

Isabel  laughed.     "Nearly  new,"  she  said. 

"And  is  the  mauve  by  way  of  mourning?" 

"Mourning?    How?" 

Mary  carefully  took  a  little  powder  from  a  box  on 
the  table  and  dabbed  it  on  her  cheeks.  "The  king  is 
dead !  Long  live  the  king !"  she  said  in  her  most  ag- 
gravating voice. 

"Mary  is  sarcastic,  so  she's  putting  on  powder," 
said  Amy  Hennessy,  the  pretty  girl  with  the  im- 
pertinent eyes,  who  had  criticised  Isabel  on  the  night 
of  her  first  dance. 

Mary  turned  round  indignantly.  '*This  isn't  pow- 
der, Amy,  it's  crushed  starch." 

No  one  offered  to  challenge  this  Jesuitical  statement; 
but  Amy  pushed  past  her  to  the  glass. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  159 

"Well,  let  me  see  my  hair,  anyway !  What's  to  go 
on  here  to-night?" 

"Bridge — for  those  who  have  brains  to  play  it,"  said 
Mary  promptly ;  "and  the  garden  for  those  who 
haven't.  Would  you  lite  a  loan  of  my  fur  coat, 
Amy?" 

There  was  a  little  titter  of  laughter  at  this,  for 
it  was  diplomatic  to  be  amused  by  Mary's 
sallies. 

"No,  thank  you,  Mary  P  Amy  retorted.  "The  con- 
servatory will  be  quite  good  enough  for  me." 

There  was  a  fresh  laugh ;  and  chatting  and  chaffing, 
the  band  of  girls  departed,  leaving  Mary  and  Isabel 
alone. 

IMary  put  in  a  hairpin  or  two,  and  settled  the  black 
velvet  ribbon  at  her  neck. 

"Frank  Carey  is  gone  back  to  Paris !"  she  an- 
nounced. 

"I  know,"  said  Isabel. 

"Who  told  you?  'Twas  only  to-day  Stephen  got 
him  to  see  reason ;  and  he  shipped  him  off  this  even- 
ing, before  he  could  change  his  mind." 

"I  know.  Mr.  Carey  wrote  to  me."  Isabel  took  up 
a  comb  and  arranged  her  hair,  which  had  been  blown 
into  untidiness  by  her  walk. 

"Oh!"  Mary  stole  a  quick  glance  at  her.  "That 
was  a  condescension  of  Stephen's!  Was  the  letter 
more  than  two  lines  long?" 

"I  didn't  count." 

"You  should  have.  Stephen's  private  letters  always 


160  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

make  me  feel  that  he's  missing  the  six-and-eightpence. 
Are  you  ready?" 

Passing  out  of  the  bedroom  and  down  the  stairs,  the 
first  person  they  came  upon  was  Owen  Power,  loung- 
ing in  a  wicker  chair  in  the  hall  and  flirting  with  Amy 
Hennessy.  Immediately  they  appeared,  he  looked  up, 
and,  with  a  superb  lack  of  courtesy,  turned  his  back 
on  his  companion,  and  came  slowly  towards  them. 
"Well,  Mary!"  he  said.  "Well,  Miss  Costello,  you 
look  very  fit  after  your  tennis !" 

Isabel,  still  smarting  under  Mary's  sarcasms,  seized 
childishly  upon  the  opportunity  to  retaliate.  "How 
could  I  be  tired,"  she  said,  "when  I  had  such  a  good 
partner .?" 

Mary  glanced  at  her,  amazed  by  the  encouragement 
of  her  tone,  and  Power  gave  a  self-conscious  laugh. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that !  I  don't  know  about 
that!" 

He  laughed  again  and  twisted  his  short  moustache. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  to-night?  I  think  myself 
it's  much  too  hot  for  cards."  He  looked  directly  into 
her  eyes ;  and  then,  bidden  by  some  twinge  of  con- 
science, turned  to  Mary,  including  her  in  the  question. 

Mary  flushed,  but  her  glance  met  his  with  level  cold- 
ness. **0h,  do  you  think  that?"  she  said.  "I'm  long- 
ing for  a  game  myself.  I'd  be  very  sorry  indeed  to 
give  up  bridge  for  an3rthing  you  could  find  in  this 
house."  With  a  quick,  contemptuous  nod,  she  passed 
him,  and  crossed  the  hall  to  the  dining-room. 

The  two,  left  to  themselves,  were  silent  for  a  mo- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  161 

ment,  then  Power  gave  another  empty  laugh. 
"  'Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrairy !'  "  he  quoted.  "But 
that  needn't  spoil  things  for  us." 

Isabel  hated  him  for  the  words ;  but  she  hated  Mary 
Norris  more,  so  she  ignored  the  lesser  feeling  and  an- 
swered with  a  smile 

"What  are  we  going  to  do?" 

"Go  out  in  the  garden,  of  course,  as  soon  as  you've 
said  how  d'you  do  to  the  dragon!" 

They  crossed  the  hall,  as  Mary  had  done,  and  passed 
into  the  dining-room,  where  Mrs.  Burke  and  her  two 
daughters  were  hovering  about  a  table  set  out  with 
tea  and  coffee.  Groups  of  people  were  clustering 
round  the  good  things,  eating  and  talking,  while  in 
the  distant  comers  of  the  room  others  were  already 
sitting  down  to  cards  under  the  direction  of  Michael 
Burke. 

As  Isabel  entered  the  room  at  Power's  side,  her  mind 
suddenly  leaped  to  interest,  for  the  first  person  her 
eyes  lighted  upon  was  Stephen  Carey,  bending  down 
to  catch  the  voluble  chatter  of  a  Httle  old  lady  in  a 
grey  silk  dress.  Carey  was  here,  then!  She  smiled 
at  Mrs.  Burke,  without  hearing  her  greetings.  Would 
he  turn  his  head?  Would  he  see  her?  The  questions 
crossed  and  recrossed  her  mind  in  unanalysed  con- 
fusion. 

She  took  her  tea  from  Power's  hand,  laughing  at 
some  jest  of  his.  Life  was  interesting  again — full  of 
zest,  full  of  possibility. 

She  lingered  over  her  tea,  her  eyes  glancing  sur- 


162  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

reptitiously  towards  the  tall  figure  and  the  charac- 
teristic head,  while  her  tongue  ran  on  in  a  stream  of 
careless  talk.  At  last  she  was  compelled  to  set  her 
cup  down. 

"Won't  you  have  any  tea,  Mr.  Power.?"  she  asked, 
hoping  for  an  excuse  to  linger. 

Power  looked  worldly-wise.  "Not  me!"  he  whis- 
pered. "I've  had  a  whisky  upstairs  in  the  old  man's 
room.     Are  you  ready?" 

She  nodded.  After  all,  Carey  was  in  the  house! 
They  must  meet,  sooner  or  later!  "Yes,  Fm  quite 
ready,"  she  said,  and  with  the  buoyant  sense  that 
everything  was  still  to  come,  she  followed  Power, 
as  he  edged  round  the  table  and  out  into  the 
hall. 

At  the  open  hall-door  they  paused,  and  he  looked  at 
her.  "Well,"  he  said;  "and  so  I'm  to  have  a  talk 
with  you  at  last !" 

She  laughed.  "A  talk?  What  have  you  got  to 
say?" 

"Ah,  wait  and  see!  I  have  plenty  to  say  to  you!" 
He  led  the  way  down  the  steps,  and  as  they  crossed 
the  gravelled  drive  he  took  out  his  cigarette  case. 
"Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke?  Or,  perhaps,  you'll  have 
a  cigarette  yourself?  All  the  girls  here  smoke,  only 
they  don't  pretend  it." 

Isabel's  eyes  opened.  "Do  they,  really?  We  used 
to  smoke  at  school  whenever  we  got  the  chance,  but 
I  thought  they  were  too  good  here." 

"Lord,  no !    Won't  you  have  one  ?" 


THE  FLY  ON    THE   WHEEL  163 

Her  eyes  flashed.  "I'd  love  to!  Do  you  think  I 
might?" 

"Why  not?  Come  down  here,  and  not  a  soul  will 
see !"  He  pointed  to  a  long  dark  alley  leading  off  the 
avenue. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  doubtful ;  then,  casting  her 
misgivings  aside,  she  turned  as  he  directed.  The  path, 
which  was  known  as  "The  Lover's  Walk,"  was  thickly 
hemmed  in  by  cedars  and  laurels,  which  even  in  dry 
weather  kept  the  ground  damp  and  the  air  moist  and 
close. 

"It's  a  funny  place!"  she  said,  as  they  made  their 
way  onward.     "I  don't  think  I  like  it." 

"Oh,  it's  all  right!  It's  a  bit  of  the  old  garden — 
the  only  bit  that  has  managed  to  hold  on  through 
Michael's  improvements." 

"I  don't  think  I  like  it.     It  has  a  creepy  feel." 

He  laughed  and  edged  a  little  nearer  to  her.  "Afraid 
of  ghosts,  what?" 

"Ghosts !  as  if  I  believed  in  ghosts !"  Her  voice  was 
nervously  sharp.  "Aren't  you  going  to  give  me  the 
cigarette?" 

"Do  you  want  it  so  soon?" 

"Of  course  I  do.     I  came  for  it,  didn't  I.?" 

Without  further  demur  he  took  two  cigarettes  from 
his  case,  and  putting  one  between  his  lips,  struck  a 
match. 

"You  light  yours  from  mine!  Matches  splutter  so 
much  in  here."  He  handed  her  the  remaining  cigarette, 
which  she  raised  somewhat  hesitatingly  to  her  lips. 


164  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"I  think  I'll  have  the  match,"  she  said. 

"I  tell  you  'twill  go  out.  It's  as  damp  as  anything 
under  these  trees." 

"Well,  I  think  I'd  rather " 

"What  nonsense !  Come  along !"  He  made  his  own 
cigarette  glow,  and  bent  his  face  towards  hers. 

Half-uncertainly  she  stepped  towards  him. 

"That's  no  good !  You  must  pull  on  it.  Look  here, 
stand  nearer !"  He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and 
as  the  two  cigarettes  glowed  he  looked  straight  into 
her  eyes. 

**Do  you  know  what  an  awfully  pretty  girl  you 
are.?" 

Isabel  laughed,  shaking  his  hand  from  her  shoulder. 
"Am  I.?" 

"Are  you,  indeed.?  I  should  think  you  are.  But 
I'll  tell  you  what  you  are,  too.     You're  a  flirt." 

"Why  should  you  say  that.?" 

**Why.?  Doesn't  all  Waterford  know  how  you 
chucked  poor  Frank  Carey?" 

"And  because  all  Waterford  says  it,  it  must  be 
true.?" 

"Well,  seeing  is  believing!     Come  now!     Admit!" 

Isabel  looked  at  him,  and  a  certain  triumph — half- 
excited,  half-nervous — marked  her  sense  of  conquest. 

"And  suppose  I  do  admit.?" 

"Well,  what  do  you  think?"  With  a  ready  move- 
ment he  caught  her  hand. 

She  freed  herself  sharply,  and  her  laugh  rang  out 
high    and    excited.       "Listen!"     she    said    quickly. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  165 

"Listen !  There's  somebody  coming — somebody  com- 
ing up  the  path." 

They  both  looked  round,  struck  into  silence  by  steps 
on  the  wet  ground. 

Power  muttered  something  uncomplimentary  to  all 
intruders,  and  Isabel  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"Why,  it's  Mr.  Carey !"  she  said. 

Carey  came  towards  them  down  the  dark  path:  he 
was  walking  very  slowly  and  smoking  a  cigar.  Reach- 
ing them,  he  half -turned  as  if  to  retrace  his  steps, 
but  Isabel  stopped  him. 

"Mr.  Carey !    Aren't  you  going  to  speak  to  us .?" 

His  eyes  travelled  from  the  cigarette  between  her 
fingers  to  the  shadowy  figure  of  her  companion. 

"It's  so  dark "  he  said,  "I  scarcely  knew " 

"Oh,  it's  me — me  and  Mr.  Power." 

"Ah!    Good-night,  Power!" 

"Good-night !"  Power  said  ungraciously.  "I  sup- 
pose you're  like  us — found  the  house  too  hot !" 

"Yes,  I  thought  I'd  desert  for  a  while.  I  had  no 
smoke  after  dinner  to-night.  But  I  mustn't  inflict 
my  company  on  you !" 

He  was  turning  again,  but  Isabel  took  an  impulsive 
step  forward.     "But — but  we'd  like  you  to  stay." 

He  paused.    "Oh,  no  !    Two  is  company,  you  know !" 

"Well,  if  you  won't  stay,  we'll  go  back  with  you." 

Carey  laughed.  "Will  Mr.  Power  subscribe  to  that.'"^ 

Power  ground  his  heel  silently  into  the  path. 

"Of  course  he  will!"  Isabel  answered. 

"Rather!"  Power  said  rudely.     "I  must  go  back  to 


166  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

the  house,  anyway.  They'll  be  looking  for  me  for 
bridge." 

"I  see.     And  will  Miss  Costello  go  back  too.'"' 

"No!"  Isabel  answered  for  herself.  "I'll  stay  on 
with  you:  I  want  to  finish  ray  cigarette."  With  os- 
tentatious calm,  she  led  the  way  back  to  the  avenue 
and,  replacing  the  cigarette  between  her  Hps,  stepped 
to  Carey's  side,  while  Power  ran  up  the  steps  and  en- 
tered the  house. 

As  he  disappeared,  Carey  looked  down  at  her.  "I 
can't  make  you  out !"  he  said  in  a  slow,  deep  voice. 

"Why.?" 

He  answered  by  another  question.  "Do  you  know 
that  I  saw  you  before  you  saw  me?" 

"Just  now.?" 

He  nodded. 

"Oh!"  She  flicked  the  ash  from  her  cigarette. 

*'Don't  you  think  you  might  wait  till  that  poor  beg- 
gar is  decently  out  of  the  country  before  you  begin 
turning  other  heads.?" 

She  stood  silent. 

"Why  do  you  flirt  with  men  like  Power?  Why  do 
you  give  them  the  chance  to  talk  about  you?" 

Her  lashes  lifted,  and  she  shot  a  swift  glance  at  him. 
"I  don't  know." 

"You  don't  know?" 

"Something  makes  me." 

He  stared  at  her — angry,  perplexed,  attracted.  "Do 
you  like  this  chap.  Power?" 

"No." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  167 

"Then,  good  heavens,  why  do  you  let  him  take  you 
out  into  the  garden  in  this  conspicuous  way — give 
you  cigarettes — actually  make  love  to  you  under  the 
eyes  of  anybody  who  might  happen  to  pass  by?" 

*'He  wasn't  making  love."  With  an  attempt  at 
bravado,  she  raised  the  cigarette  again ;  but  before  it 
could  touch  her  lips,  Carey  seized  it  from  between  her 
fingers  and  threw  it  away  among  the  bushes. 

She  stared  at  him,  and  her  pulses  gave  a  sudden 
unaccountable  throb. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?" 

"Because  if  nobody  else  will  stop  you  from  making  a 
fool  of  yourself,  I  will." 

The  words  and  the  tone  were  harsh,  but  they  had 
the  inestimable  worth  of  things  wrung  spontaneously 
from  the  speaker.  Carey  had  never  been  so  near  to 
her  as  in  that  moment  of  anger. 

"And  do  you  mind  whether  I  make  a  fool  of  myself 
or  not.'*" 

For  one  second  he  seemed  on  the  brink  of  speech ; 
then  he  turned  away,  avoiding  her  questioning  eyes. 
"Never  mind!"  he  said.     "Come  into  the  house!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

It  was  the  day  following  the  evening  party  at  Fair 
Hill — and  Mrs.  Michael  Burke's  "At  Home"  day. 
She  was  waiting  in  solemn  state  in  the  big  drawing- 
room,  while  her  daughters,  Aileen  and  Angela,  flitted 
here  and  there,  altering  the  position  of  a  flower-vase, 
rearranging  a  book  or  a  paper,  lowering  or  raising 
the  Venetian  blinds.  Aileen  and  Angela  Burke  were 
what  is  best  described  as  "nice  girls."  Round-faced, 
red-cheeked,  ridiculously  like  their  father,  they  had 
all  the  sterling  qualities  of  Michael  Burke ;  and,  like 
him,  lived  under  the  iron  rod  of  their  mother's  rule. 
As  they  moved  hither  and  thither  now  about  the  showy 
room,  they  kept  up  a  little  whispered  duologue,  which 
they  interrupted  every  minute  to  take  furtive 
glances  at  the  stiff-backed  chair  in  which  Mrs.  Burke 
sat  reading  a  novel. 

"I  wonder  if  any  one  will  come  to-day !"  Angela,  the 
younger  and  brighter-looking  of  the  two,  remarked, 
as  she  drew  a  peacock-feather  fire-screen  into  prom- 
inence.   *' Wasn't  last  night  awful.'"' 

"I  didn't  think  'twas  bad." 

"Of  course  you  didn't!  You  were  sitting  on  the 
stairs  with  Tom  Norris.  'Twas  very  different  for 
me,  having  to  play  bridge  all  night  with  old  Cusacke. 
Oh,  dear !    I'm  sick  of  my  grand  relations !" 

Mrs.  Burke,  whose  hearing  was  as  sharp  as  a  needle, 


THE   FLY  ON   THE   WHEEL  169 

looked  up  from  her  book.     "What  are  you  talking 
about,  children?" 

"Nothing,  mother  I" 

"Then  come  down  here  near  me,  Angela !  I  heard  a 
ring  at  the  door.  If  this  is  any  one,  Aileen,  you  can 
pour  out  the  tea." 

"All  right,  mother!" 

Mrs.  Burke  opened  her  book  again.  "I  think  Henry 
Cusacke  may  turn  in  later,"  she  said.  "If  he  does, 
I  hope  you'll  be  nice  to  him.  It's  lonesome  for  the 
poor  fellow  away  from  his  regiment." 

Angela,  who  had  obediently  dropped  to  a  stool  at^ 
Mrs.  Burke's  feet,  pouted  her  red  lips.    "But,  mother, 
I  don't  like  him." 

Mrs.  Burke  patted  her  cheek.  "Nonsense,  darling! 
You  know  nothing  at  all  about  your  own  mind.  Just 
do  as  I  tell  you.  Why,  here's  Mrs.  Carey !  How  nice 
of  you  to  come,  Mrs,  Carey !  And  Mr.  Norris !  And 
Miss  Norris!"  She  rose  and  greeted  the  guests  with 
just  the  due  amount  of  artificiality,  while  Daisy  and 
Mary  rustled  forward,  carefully  arranging  their 
dresses  as  they  sank  into  their  chairs. 

"I  suppose  Stephen  hasn't  been  here  yet,  Mrs. 
Burke.?"  Daisy  said. 

"No.    Is  Mr.  Carey  coming?" 

"Yes.  He  promised  that  he'd  call  for  us  in  the 
motor."  She  could  scarcely  conceal  the  pride  that 
the  announcement  caused  her. 

Mrs.  Burke  looked  a  little  patronising.  "Oh,  the 
new  motor?    I  hear  he  drives  it  himself  now.    I  hope 


170  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

he  finds  it  more  satisfactory  than  poor  Mr.  Leader 
did." 

Daisy  smiled  graciously  at  what  she  considered  Mrs. 
Burke's  natural  jealousy.  "Oh,  it's  the  greatest  suc- 
cess, Mrs.  Burke.  I'm  afraid  'twas  poor  Mr.  Leader's 
own  fault  that  he  had  so  much  trouble  with  it.  It 
takes  somebody  who  understands  these  things " 

*'No  doubt,  indeed!  I  hope  you  weren't  tired  last 
night." 

"Tired.'*  We  were  just  saying  as  we  came  up  the 
avenue  what  a  lovely  party  it  was.  Weren't  we, 
Mary?" 

"That's  what  we  want,  Mrs.  Burke,  you  know !"  Tom 
broke  in;  *'that  old  spirit  of  sociality  that's  dying 
out  in  Ireland.  I  agree  with  my  sister  that  I  never 
enjoyed  myself  so  much  in  all  my  life  as  I  did  last 
night." 

Aileen  Burke  blushed  hotly  behind  the  big  silver  urn. 

Mrs.  Burke  condescended  to  smile  at  his  compliment. 
Tom  might  not  be  the  pinnacle  of  maternal  ambition, 
but,  failing  other  schemes,  he  was  not  to  be  despised. 
**That's  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Norris,"  she  said  af- 
fably. "I  wish  everybody  was  as  easily  pleased.  Will 
you  make  yourself  useful  now,  and  help  the  girls  with 
the  tea.?" 

With  great  alacrity  Tom  retired  to  the  tea-table, 
and  presently  the  sound  of  muffled  laughter  gave 
proof  of  his  awkwardness  and  Aileen's  chaffing 
criticism. 

As  the  cups  were  being  passed  round  by  Angela,  the 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  171 

door  opened  again,  and  Mrs.  Power — ^large,  florid, 
and  smiling — came  forward  into  the  circle. 

"Well,  Ellen,  I  hear  there  never  was  such  a  party! 
Josephine  can  talk  of  nothing  else.  How  are  you, 
Daisy,  dear.''  How  are  you,  Mary.?  And  Aileen  and 
Angela.''"  In  her  motherly  way  she  kissed  all  the 
girls,  and  then  shook  hands  with  Norris.  "Indeed, 
Tom,  I  heard  all  about  you;  but  we  won't  tell  tales 
out  of  school !" 

Aileen  once  more  sought  shelter  behind  the  urn,  and 
Mrs.  Burke  gave  one  of  her  hard  laughs.  "What  did 
Owen  think  of  our  bridge.'"'  she  asked,  tactfully  turn- 
ing the  subject.  "I  expect  we  seem  very  much  be- 
hindhand after  Dublin." 

"Indeed  I  didn't  see  Owen  since  last  night.  He  went 
on  to  some  poker  party  or  other,  after  bringing 
Josephine  home,  and  he  wasn't  up  this  morning  when 
I  was  going  out  to  mass." 

Mrs.  Burke  said  nothing,  but  her  face  was  eloquent 
in  criticism  of  Mrs.  Power's  family  management. 

Mary  Norris  laughed  suddenly.  "Oh,  indeed,  Owen 
was  enjoying  himself  last  night,  Mrs.  Power!  Wasn't 
he,  Aileen.'"'  It  was  Mary's  first  contribution  to  the 
conversation,  and  it  was  given  in  her  most  telling  vein. 

Aileen  Burke  gave  an  embarrassed  little  laugh.  "I 
didn't  see  him  at  all,  Mary." 

"Didn't  you?  Oh,  he  had  a  very  good  time  last 
night." 

JNIrs.  Burke  looked  severe.  "I  thought  Owen  was 
playing  bridge  all  the  time." 


172  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Oh,  not  all  the  time,  indeed,  Mrs.  Burke !  He  was 
out  in  the  garden  first." 

"Who  with,  Mary.?"  asked  Mrs.  Power. 

Mary  tossed  her  head.  "Oh,  I'm  not  going  to 
say  who  with;  but  they  went  down  the  Lover's 
Walk,  and  Lillie  OTarrell  saw  them  both  smoking 
cigarettes." 

"Both  smoking,  did  you  say.  Miss  Norris.'"'  Mrs. 
Burke  asked,  her  back  stiffening  perceptibly.  "I  can 
scarcely  believe  that  any  girl  in  my  house  would  do 
such  a  thing  as  smoke." 

Mary,  who  consumed  many  cigarettes  a  day  in  the 
privacy  of  her  own  room,  looked  becomingly  grave. 
"Not  in  the  house,  Mrs.  Burke.    I  said  in  the  garden." 

Mrs.  Burke's  lips  tightened.  "I  confess  I  don't  see 
much  difference  between  the  two!  And  I'd  like  to 
know  who  the  girl  was." 

Aileen  and  Angela,  themselves  conscious  of  stolen 
smokes,  drew  away  behind  the  sheltering  figure  of 
Mrs.  Power,  but  Tom  Norris  came  forward  into  the 
group. 

"Don't,  Polly !"  he  said.  "  'Twould  be  mean.  After 
all,  what's  in  a  cigarette?" 

"Oh,  nothing  but  a  little  paper  and  a  bit  of  tobacco 
■ — if  the  girl  happens  to  be  pretty !" 

*'I  think  there's  a  great  deal,  Mr.  Norris,  if  you  ask 
me,"  said  Mrs.  Burke  severely.  "I  know  that  people 
are  getting  more  lax  every  day,  but  for  my  part,  I'd 
be  very  sorry  indeed  to  see  a  daughter  of  mine  smok- 
ing." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  173 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  said  Tom  stoutly.  "I  don't 
see  any  harm  in  it." 

"Perhaps  she  picked  up  the  habit  abroad!"  put  in 
Daisy  in  her  pretty,  mincing  voice. 

Mrs.  Burke  jumped  to  a  quick  conclusion. 
"Abroad?"  she  said.  "Abroad?  Why,  then 
it  must  have  been  Isabel!  Miss  Norris,  was 
it  Isabel?" 

Mary  shrugged  her  shoulders.  **  'Twasn't  I  let  the 
cat  out  of  the  bag,  anyway !" 

Daisy  laughed  a  little.  **Suppose  I  oughtn't  to  have 
said  it!  But,  really,  Isabel  seems  to  be  getting  her- 
self so  much  talked  about  lately " 

" — That  it  doesn't  matter  how  much  more  you  say  ?'* 
added  Tom.    "How  like  a  woman !" 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Tom,  talk  about  something  you 
understand!"  said  Mary  irritably. 

Tom  became  mute,  and  retired  again  to  the  tea-table, 
while  Mrs.  Burke  drew  her  chair  nearer  to  Daisy's. 
**I  believe  people  are  talking  rather  too  much  about 
Isabel,"  she  said  in  a  lower  tone.  "Is  it  true,  now, 
Mrs.  Carey,  that  she  really  did  treat  your  brother-in- 
law  badly?" 

Daisy  dropped  instantly  to  the  confidential  key. 
"Well,  indeed,  Mrs.  Burke,  I  don't  like  to  say  any- 
thing, but  poor  Frank  looked  more  like  a  ghost  than 
anything  else  that  morning  that  he  came  down  from 
New  Town.  I  hardly  knew  him  when  he  walked  into 
the  dining-room." 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  everybody  in  Waterford  is  saying 


174  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

that  'twas  the  Careys  broke  off  the  match,"  put  in 
Mary.     "It's  awfully  hard  on  Daisy." 

"And  who  minds  what  people  say,  Mary  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Power. 

"Not  mind,  indeed!    You  have  to  mind." 

"Indeed  you  have,"  Daisy  added.  "A  professional 
man  hke  Stephen  can't  afford  to  be  talked  about: 
that's  why  it's  doubly  hard  on  me." 

"Well,  Daisy,  I  told  you  how  you  could  stop  all 
talk." 

**I  know,  Mrs.  Power.  By  asking  her  to  the 
house." 

"And  then  have  her  going  on  like  she  did  last  night !" 
Mary  supplemented. 

"Miss  Norris,  I  insist  on  knowing  where  she  smoked 
the  cigarette,"  said  Mrs.  Burke,  recalled  to  the 
thought  of  her  own  grievance. 

"In  the  garden,  Mrs.  Burke.  Lillie  O'FarreU  went 
out  for  a  couple  of  minutes  with  one  of  the  Goulding 
boys,  and  while  they  were  walking  up  and  down  in 
front  of  the  house,  Isabel  came  out  with  Owen.  Lillie 
says  she  was  flirting  dreadfully;  and  she  heard  him 
offer  her  a  cigarette." 

"But  what's  in  that,  Mary !"  Mrs.  Power  exclaimed. 
"Owen  is  always  chaffing  and  going  on.  Who  knows 
she  ever  smoked  at  all.?" 

"Oh,  yes,  she  did." 

"How  do  you  know  ?    Did  LiUie  follow  them .'"' 

*'Not  very  likely  that  she  would!" 

"Then  how  do  you  know.?" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  175 

"I  heard.  Oh,  there  was  a  good  deal  more,  only 
I  don't  want  to  say." 

"Oh,  Polly,  do  tell  us !"  Daisy  cried. 

But  Mary  closed  her  lips.  "No;  I  won't  tell  any 
more." 

"But,  Miss  Norris,  do  you  think  that's  quite  fair? 
Surely,  when  there  is  anything  to  tell,  it's  our  duty 
to  tell  it  for  the  good  of  others." 

Mary  smiled  enigmatically.  "Sometimes,  perhaps, 
Mrs.  Burke,"  she  said,  "but  not  always.  Don't  you 
think  we  ought  to  be  going,  Daisy .''  I'm  sure  Stephen 
had  a  puncture  or  something,  and  you  know  I  have 
that  appointment  at  Mrs.  Clarke's." 

"Oh,  wait  a  little  longer !"  Mrs.  Burke  urged.  "He'll 
be  here  presently.  You  never  can  be  up  to  time  with 
a  motor." 

Daisy  looked  inclined  to  yield,  but  Mary  intervened 
again. 

**But  dressmakers  don't  take  that  into  account,  Mrs. 
Burke,"  she  said ;  "and  I  have  to  try  on  a  new  dress  at 
Mrs.  Clarke's." 

Daisy  rose  reluctantly,  and  Tom  tore  himself  away 
from  Aileen. 

"What  sort  of  a  dress  is  it,  Mary.?"  asked  Mrs. 
Power  good-naturedly,  interested,  and  forgetful  of 
the  preceding  passage  of  arms. 

"Oh,  it's  only  a  linen  for  Kilmeaden,  Mrs.  Power. 
We're  going  down  in  a  fortnight,  you  know." 

*'0h,  yes !  And  I'm  wanting  Stephen  to  let  me  give 
a  little  dance  at  Lady  Lane  the  night  before  we  go," 


176  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

announced  Daisy,  as  she  shook  out  her  skirt  and  ar- 
ranged her  feather  boa.  "Everything  will  be  put 
away  for  the  summer,  and  it  wouldn't  be  a  bit  of 
trouble." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Carey,  can't  you  persuade  him?"  cried 
Aileen  and  Angela  simultaneously.  "  'Twould  be  sim- 
ply heavenly !" 

"Of  course  he'll  let  you,  Daisy,"  said  Mrs.  Power. 
"Stephen  is  the  soul  of  good-nature." 

"If  I  were  you,  Mrs.  Carey,"  advised  Mrs.  Burke, 
"I'd  send  out  the  invitations  and  not  tell  him  a  word 
about  it  till  it  was  all  settled.  Men  have  nothing  to 
ido  with  these  things !" 

Mary  laughed  sarcastically.  "Say  that  to  Stephen 
Carey,  Mrs.  Burke!    Are  you  coming,  Daisy.?" 

They  shook  hands  all  round,  and  with  a  great  deal 
of  chattering  and  laughter,  left  the  room. 

"I  ought  to  be  going  too,  Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Power, 
rising. 

*'Nonsense,  Kate!     Sit  down." 

**Ah,  no ;  I  must  really !  I  have  a  lot  of  visits  that 
are  hanging  over  me  for  months ;  and  anyway,  I  don't 
like  to  keep  the  horse  standing.  Good-bye,  Ellen! 
Good-bye,  girls!  When  are  you  coming  to  Skerry- 
beg.''    You're  great  strangers  to  us." 

"Indeed,  it's  too  much  amusement  they  have,"  said 
their  mother.  "Aileen  is  giving  up  her  painting  alto- 
gether; and  as  for  Angela,  she  never  touches  the 
piano." 

"Perhaps  they're  beginning  to  think  of  other  things ! 


,       THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  177 

I  know  a  little  bird  whispered  to  me  that  it  wouldn't 
be  long  before  we  heard  something  about  an  engage- 
ment. Well,  good-bye !"  She  passed  out  of  the  room, 
smiling  and  nodding. 

"I  don't  know  how  Kate  Power  can  bring  herself 
to  be  so  vulgar,"  said  Mrs.  Burke  as  the  door  closed. 
"And  what  a  fool  she  has  been  over  those  spoiled, 
worthless  sons  of  hers  !" 

"Mother,  wouldn't  it  be  lovely  if  the  Careys  give 
the  dance?"  said  Angela,  her  mind  bent  on  her  own 
affairs. 

"Indeed,  if  they  do,  your  father  will  have  to  take 
you!     I  can't  lose  another  night's  rest." 

The  girls  exchanged  a  glance  of  secret  joy,  for  it 
was  a  red-letter  day  when  Michael  Burke  played 
guardian. 

"Mother,"  said  Aileen  suddenly,  "do  you  think  that 
was  true  about  Isabel.'"' 

Mrs.  Burke  looked  severely  judicial.  "Well,  I'd 
certainly  be  very  sorry  to  believe  everything  Mary 
Norris  says,"  she  replied ;  "but  I  have  thought  more 
than  once  myself  that  Isabel  is  rather  free-and-easy 
in  her  manner  for  Waterford." 

"She's  very  pretty,"  said  Angela  with  unconscious 
philosophy. 

"She's  too  dark  for  my  taste.  Besides,  Angela,  re- 
member 'handsome  is  that  handsome  does.*  " 

"Listen !  Listen,  mother !"  Aileen  cried.  "I  hear  a 
motor.     There's  a  motor  coming  up  the  avenue." 

"Oh,  it  must  be  Mr.  Carey !    They  must  have  gone 


178  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

the  short  cut  and  missed  him  1"  Angela  rushed  to  the 
window. 

"It  is !  It  is,  mother !  And  guess — guess — do  guess 
who's  with  him?     Aileen,  come  here!     Quick!" 

Aileen  flew  across  the  room  to  her  sister's  side,  over- 
turning a  footstool  as  she  went. 

*'What,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  is  the  matter?"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Burke  crossly.  "One  would  think  you 
never  saw  a  motor  in  your  lives !" 

With  a  crunching  of  gravel,  the  car  sped  round  the 
house,  and  a  little  cry  of  excitement  and  interest  es- 
caped the  girls. 

"Aileen !    Angela !    What  on  earth  is  it  ?" 

But  before  either  could  collect  herself  sufficiently  to 
give  a  coherent  answer,  the  door  of  the  drawing-room 
was  thrown  open,  and  Isabel  Costello,  with  her  eyes 
dancing  and  her  hair  blown  into  elf-locks,  walked  into 
the  room,  followed  by  Stephen  Carey. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Foe  one  moment  there  was  silence  in  the  large  draw- 
ing-room ;  then  Mrs.  Burke  rallied  her  social  qualities 
and  met  the  situation. 

"Isabel!  And  Mr.  Carey!  This  is  a  surprise.  A 
very  pleasant  surprise!"  she  finished  with  scrupulous 
politeness. 

Carey  stepped  forward  rather  hurriedly.  "Isn't  my 
wife  here?"  he  said,  as  he  took  her  hand. 

"No;  Mrs.  Carey  has  just  gone;  she  took  the  short 
cut  through  the  fields.  Miss  Norris  had  an  appoint- 
ment at  the  dressmaker's." 

"And,  of  course,  nothing  is  so  important  as  a  dress- 
m.aker,  Mr.  Carey,"  said  Angela,  as  the  two  girls 
came  forward,  stealing  furtively  curious  glances  at 
Isabel. 

The  news  of  Daisy's  departure  seemed  to  disconcert 
him.  He  glanced  round,  almost  as  though  he  con- 
templated flight. 

"She  might  have  waited,"  he  said.  "I  told  her  I'd 
be  as  soon  as  I  could." 

"Indeed,  he  was  flying  up  the  hill  when  he  met  me," 
supplemented  Isabel.  "I  felt  quite  guilty  for  stop- 
ping the  car  even  for  a  minute — though  the  lift  was 
too  tempting  to  refuse."  Womanlike,  it  was  she  who 
made  the  explanation  of  their  presence — ^the  explana- 
tion that  instinct  told  her  would  be  needed. 


180  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"I  should  think  so,  indeed!"  said  Aileen  kindly.  "I 
wish  I  had  been  walking  up  the  hill!" 

Mrs.  Burke  looked  a  little  severe.  "Won't  you  have 
a  cup  of  tea,  Mr.  Carey,  now  that  you  are  here.''" 

Again  Carey  looked  round  uncomfortably.  "Oh,  I 
don't  know  that  I  ought!"  Then  as  his  eyes  strayed 
round  the  room  they  lit  upon  Isabel,  and  uncon- 
sciously his  expression  wavered.  "Well,  thanks, 
Mrs.  Burke!"  he  said.  "Thanks!  I  will  have  a 
cup." 

"I'm  glad  you  altered  your  mind !  Aileen,  see  after 
Mr.  Carey.  Isabel,  come  here  and  sit  near  me."  With 
the  shepherding  instinct  of  the  mother,  she  drew  the 
object  of  most  danger  to  her  own  side. 

"Well,  Isabel,  and  how  do  you  like  motor-cars .'"'  she 
asked,  her  eyes,  piercing  as  gimlets,  searching  the 
girl's  face. 

"Oh,  I  simply  adore  them,  Mrs.  Burke !  This  is  the 
first  I  was  ever  in,  and  I  thought  it  was  like  heaven." 

Mrs.  Burke  gave  one  of  her  stiff  little  smiles.  "I 
hope  heaven  will  be  more  peaceful,  Isabel." 

Isabel  threw  back  her  head. 

"Oh,  do  you,  Mrs.  Burke.?  I  don't.  I  wouldn't  care 
a  bit  for  anything  that  was  all  peace  and  quiet." 

"You  mustn't  say  that,  Isabel!" 

"Why.?    Is  it  any  harm.?" 

"Well,  it's  a  little  irreverent,  isn't  it?" 

"Is  it.?  I  didn't  mean  it  to  be.  It  only  seems  to 
me  that  heaven  must  be  like  all  the  loveliest  things  on 
earth,  only  a  thousand  times  better." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  181 

"The  prophet's  heaven?"  said  Carey,  smiling,  as  he 
handed  her  her  tea. 

Mrs.  Burke  coughed  nervously.  "I  don't  think  girls 
ought  to  discuss  theology,  Mr.  Carey.  But  perhaps 
I'm  old-fashioned." 

"Is  this  theology?"  said  Carey  innocently. 

She  stiffened  her  shoulders.  "Oh,  you  know  what  I 
mean.  All  that  girls  need  know  is  that  they  must  say 
their  prayers — and  never  give  bad  example." 

Isabel  drank  her  tea,  striving  to  keep  a  still  tongue ; 
while  Mrs.  Burke,  pleased  at  what  she  considered  her 
well-timed  reproof,  turned  to  Carey  with  greater 
friendliness. 

"Well,  Mr.  Carey,  so  you're  off  to  Kilmeaden  soon  ?" 

Isabel  looked  up.  This  was  the  first  she  had  heard 
of  the  Careys'  departure  to  the  country. 

"Yes,"  said  Carey.  "My  wife  is  anxious  to  get 
down  early  this  year  and  come  back  in  September. 
We  found  Kilmeaden  rather  damp  last  October." 

"That'll  be  very  nice  I  And  you'll  find  the  motor 
a  greai  convenience,  instead  of  having  to  drive  up  to 
town." 

"Will  you  shut  up  the  house  in  Lady  Lane,  then?" 
Isabel  asked. 

"Oh,  my  wife  puts  in  a  charwoman,  in  case  any 
one  wants  to  come  to  town  for  a  night.  But  we  live 
altogether  at  Kilmeaden — though  I  come  up  every 
morning  to  the  office." 

"Ah,  there's  no  place  like  the  country !  It's  so  good 
for  the  children,"  put  in  Mrs.  Burke. 


182  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Isabel  finished  her  tea  hastily,  and  Carey  laughed 
a  little  awkwardly.     "Oh,  yes!"  he  said;  "yes!" 

"And  what  fine  little  fellows  they  are !  I  met  them 
on  the  road  the  other  day  with  the  nurse.  But  Mrs. 
Carey  tells  me  you're  thinking  of  giving  a  little  party 
before  you  go.^*" 

"Oh,  mother,  she  only  said  they  were  talking  of  it." 

"But  that's  the  same  thing,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Carey?" 
said  Angela,  looking  up  at  him  with  her  good-na- 
tured smile.  "  'Twouldn't  be  one  bit  of  trouble,  you 
know,  once  the  house  is  upset.  You'll  let  Mrs.  Carey 
give  it,  of  course.    You  will,  now.''    Won't  you?" 

"Oh,  do,  Mr.  Carey !"  chimed  in  Aileen.  "We  were 
saying  only  yesterday  that  there  wouldn't  be  another" 
dance  this  summer." 

Carey  looked  at  Isabel.  "Miss  Costello,  won't  you 
stand  up  for  me?  It  isn't  fair,  you  know!  Two  to 
one!" 

"Oh,  indeed,  Isabel  would  love  it!  Wouldn't  you, 
Isabel?" 

Isabel's  eyes  met  Carey's.  "Mr.  Carey  knows  I  adore 
dancing." 

"And  she's  only  had  one  dance  since  she  came  home. 
Oughtn't  that  soften  your  heart?" 

"Angela,  you're  very  tormenting!  Let  Mr.  Carey 
alone !" 

"But,  mother,  it's  his  duty !  What  has  he  a  big 
house  for,  if  'tisn't  to  give  parties  ?" 

"Indeed,  you're  a  great  tease !  I  wonder  Mr.  Carey 
puts  up  with  you.     Isabel,  how  is  your  aunt?" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  183 

At  this  decisive  changing  of  the  conversation  the 
topic  of  the  dance  was  dropped. 

"Oh,  she's  very  well,  Mrs.  Burke,  thanks !"  answered 
Isabel.  "Only  she  has  one  of  her  bad  headaches  to- 
day. She  said  I  was  to  excuse  her.  Only  for  it,  she'd 
have  come  up  with  me." 

"Oh,  poor  thing!     And  what  is  she  doing  for  it.'"' 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing.!'  What  a  mistake!"  Mrs.  Burke  did  a 
little  amateur  doctoring  on  homoeopathic  lines,  and 
took  great  pride  in  the  results.  "The  minute  you  go 
home,  Isabel,  tell  her  she  is  to  take  a  tumbler  of  soda- 
water  with  the  juice  of  a  lemon  in  it ;  and  if  she's  not 
well  in  half  an  hour,  she's  to  send  up  to  me  for  a 
globule.  Now,  don't  forget !  How  many  simple  cures 
there  are,  Mr.  Carey,  if  we  only  knew  them  1" 

"Yes,  indeed!"  Carey  murmured. 

"You  may  well  say  so !  I  believe  myself  that  it  only 
requires  a  little  faith  and  plenty  of  cold  water  to  do 
away  with  doctors  altogether !  Isabel,  you  won't  for- 
get my  message." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  how  mother  gave  father  a  Turk- 
ish bath  in  his  own  room.'"'  whispered  Angela  to 
Carey. 

"Never." 

She  waited  until  her  mother  was  launched  upon  an- 
other series  of  directions  to  Isabel,  then  she  looked  up 
at  him,  her  round  face  brimming  with  humour. 

"It  was  long  ago,"  she  whispered,  "one  time  father 
had  a  cold.     He  was  too  bad  to  go  out,  so  mother 


184  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

thought  she'd  give  him  a  sort  of  Turkish  bath  in  the 
house,  with  blankets  and  a  spirit-lamp.  He  fought 
against  it  like  anything,  of  course — ^but,  you  know, 
mother  always  has  her  way." 

Carey  nodded. 

"Well,  father  gave  in;  but  just  as  everything  was 
arranged  and  he  was  packed  up  in  the  blankets,  some 
people  called  to  see  mother.  As  luck  would  have  it, 
who  should  they  be  but  Wexford  people  that  she  hadn't 
seen  for  years,  so  she  told  poor  father  to  keep  quite 
quiet  and  not  to  imagine  the  lamp  was  too  high,  an3 
that  she'd  just  run  down  and  say  'How  d'you  do?' 
and  be  back  again  before  he  knew  she  was  gone!" 
Here  Angela  went  into  an  irrepressible  titter  of 
laughter. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  happened.'*  She  went 
down,  and  in  three  minutes  she  was  buried  in  all  the 
old  scandals  that  had  happened  in  Wexford  for  the 
last  twenty-five  years,  with  every  bit  of  thought  of 
father  gone  out  of  her  head !" 

Carey,  seeing  the  picture  of  Michael,  over  the  lighted 
spirit-lamp,  powerless  under  his  weight  of  blankets, 
went  off  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

Mrs.  Burke  looked  round.  "Is  Angela  amusing  you, 
Mr.  Carey  ?    She's  a  terrible  chatterbox,  I'm  afraid." 

"Miss  Angela  is  very  entertaining,  Mrs.  Burke,"  he 
said  "I  think  she  ought  to  be  given  her  dance.  Miss 
Angela,  what  was  the  end?" 

Angela  looked  at  him  mischievously.  "Oh,  father 
had  escaped  back  to  bed  by  the  time  she  came  up," 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  185 

she  whispered,  "but  most  of  the  blankets  were  still 
on  fire !  But  you  won't  go  back  of  your  word  about 
the  dance  ?    Promise  now,  you  won't !" 

At  this  juncture  Isabel  stood  up.  "I  think  I  must 
be  going,"  she  said.     "Good-bye,  Mrs.  Burke!" 

To  everybody's  surprise  Carey  put  down  his  cup 
and  rose  also. 

"What,  Mr,  Carey !    Are  you  going  too  ?" 

"If  Miss  Costello  will  let  me,  I'll  drive  her  home." 

Isabel  turned  to  him,  all  pleasure,  all  delight,  in  a 
moment.    "Oh,  no!    Why  should  I.?" 

"But  why  not.?  A  foretaste  of  heaven  is  food  for 
the  soul !" 

She  laughed  yieldingly. 

"I  am  sure  it  will  be  very  pleasant  for  her  to  be 
driven  home,"  Mrs.  Burke  put  in  rather  frigidly. 
"Don't  forget  about  the  lemon  for  your  aunt's  head, 
Isabel." 

"No,  Mrs.  Burke!"  Isabel's  mind  was  speeding  to 
other  things  as  she  shook  hands  all  round. 

"Good-bye,"  cried  Angela  cordially. 

"Good-bye!"  added  Aileen.  "We'll  come  out  and 
see  you  off." 

"No,  children,  I  think  you'd  better  not !  There's  a 
treacherous  fog  these  evenings,  and  you  both  had  sore 
throats  last  week." 

The  girls  looked  disappointed,  but  neither  offered 
to  oppose  the  mandate. 

"Well,  we'll  look  at  you  through  the  window,"  said 
Aileen. 


186  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"And  don't  forget  the  dance,  Mr.  Carey!"  Angela 
cried,  as  the  two  guests  disappeared  into  the  hall. 

The  setting  in  motion  of  the  engines  was  the  work 
of  a  moment,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  skill  and  pre- 
cision Carey  swept  his  car  round  the  open,  gravelled 
space  at  the  corner  of  the  house. 

In  a  vague  flash  he  saw  the  faces  of  the  Burke  girls 
pressed  against  the  drawing-room  window,  but  the  im- 
pression passed  with  the  presence  of  the  house,  and 
he  drew  a  quick,  deep  breath  of  relief. 

**What  a  woman !"  he  said.    "What  an  atmosphere !" 

•  It  was   remarkable   that  he   spoke  his   thoughts   as 

though  he  were  alone,  that  by  some  hidden  link  of 

comradeship  he  did  not  question  whether  Isabel  would 

understand. 

"Yes,  I  know!"  she  said  quickly.  "Don't  you  feel 
that  you  can't  stand  it  for  one  second  longer — that 
you  must  get  up  and  scream  in  the  very  middle  of 
what  she's  saying?" 

Unconsciously  Carey  checked  the  pace  of  the  car, 
and  they  passed  almost  slowly  through  the  gates. 

"Good  God!"  he  said,  "I've  sometimes  felt  that  no 
man  in  his  senses  would  stand  this  life  for  a  single 
year !    Talk  of  rats  in  a  trap !" 

They  swerved  out  into  the.  high-road ;  but  instead  of 
turning  down  the  steep  hill  that  led  directly 
into  Waterford,  he  drove  straight  on,  making  a 
detour. 

Isabel  sat  with  her  hands  clasped  loosely  in  her  lap, 
every  nerve  quivering  to  the  moment. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  187 

"Have  you  wanted  to  get  out  into  the  world,  then  ?" 
she  said. 

"Yes !     Lord,  yes !     There  was  a  time But 

what's  the  good " 

Her  glance  dropped  to  his  hands,  strong  and  steady 
on  the  steering  wheel.  "Won't  you  tell  me.'"'  she 
whispered.    "I'd — love  to  hear." 

There  was  nothing  to  alarm  in  the  low,  enticing 
voice,  and  he  yielded,  half  unconsciously,  to  its  per- 
suasion. "Oh,  it's  only  that  I  built  my  castles  once !" 
he  said,  "and  that,  with  half  a  chance,  I  might 
have  made  my  way.  A  man  isn't  a  man  in  a  place 
like  this!  What  sort  of  a  life  is  it.''  Stagnation. 
The  same  round,  the  same  faces,  the  same  work, 
autumn,  winter,  and  spring,  and  in  the  summer — 
Kilmeaden !"    He  gave  one  of  his  sarcastic  laughs. 

"But  if  you  liked  you  could  go  away — you  have 
money." 

For  answer  he  increased  the  speed  of  the  car,  send- 
ing it  spinning  forward.  "Miss  Costello,"  he  said, 
"look  at  the  rut  at  the  side  of  this  road !  If  I  ran  the 
car  into  that  rut,  we'd  have  to  get  ropes  and  men  and 
horses  to  drag  her  out — 'twouldn't  help  her  one  atom 
that  she's  forty  horse-power  in  herself." 

She  grasped  the  simile,  and  followed  it  up. 

"Yes,  but  you'd  get  the  car  out,  however  you  man- 
aged it !" 

"Ah,  you're  right  there!  And  perhaps  I've  had 
thoughts  for  myself  too." 

She  felt  her  senses  quicken  at  the  sudden  fire  that 


188  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

touched  his  voice,  glowing  up  through  his  words,  and 
her  impetuous  nature  leaped  to  a  response. 

"Oh,  I  wish  you  weren't  going  away !" 

Carey  reddened — reddened  as  though  no  span  of 
years  or  tale  of  responsibilities  had  sealed  the  book 
of  his  youth.  "Why  do  you  say  that .?"  he  asked  in  a 
low,  controlled  voice,  from  which  he  resolutely  shut 
out  the  eagerness,  the  curiosity  that  were  welling  in 
his  mind. 

"I  don't  know.  Because — ^because  you're  different 
from  the  others — and  I'll  miss  you." 

The  subtle  flattery  moved  him.  "You'll  miss  me? 
Do  you  mean  that.'"' 

She  nodded  silently ;  and  as  he  turned  to  catch  her 
expression,  his  glance  rested  on  her  eyes,  with  their 
thick  black  lashes — on  her  warm  mouth — on  the  elf- 
locks  blown  across  her  smooth,  soft  cheek;  and 
the  things  of  the  world,  the  things  he  had  denied, 
surged  up  overwhelmingly.  "You  oughtn't  to  miss 
me,"  he  said  unevenly.  "  'Tis  I  ought  to  miss 
you." 

Isabel  looked  down.     "I  wish  you  weren't  going  P' 

"  'Twon't  be  for  long ;  I'll  see  you  again  soon." 

Her  glance  flashed  back  to  his,  quick  and  eager. 

"How.?" 

The  little  whispered  word  sent  his  blood  racing 
through  his  veins,  and  for  one  fierce  moment  the 
temptation  to  say  "I'll  be  alone  at  the  office  every 
day"  rose  insistently ;  but  with  a  sudden  shame  at  his 
own  thought  he  flung  it  aside. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  189 

"My  wife  is  going  to  ask  you  out  to  Kilmeaden," 
he  said  instead. 

"Me?  To  Kilmeaden?"  She  flushed  to  her  temples 
with  swift,  incredulous  delight. 

"Yes.  You'll  come,  won't  you.?"  Unconsciously  he 
slackened  speed  again. 

Her  glance  fell. 

He  misinterpreted  her  silence.  "Oh,  but  you  must 
come,"  he  said  quickly.  "I  won't  allow  you  to  refuse. 
Look  here!  I'll  make  you  a  promise  I  You  like  the 
car.  Well,  I'll  take  you  for  such  drives  as  you'll 
never  forget !     Will  that  tempt  you  ?" 

Isabel  still  looked  down  at  her  clasped  hands,  her 
colour  coming  and  going, 

"Isabel !" 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  used  her  name,  though 
she  had  long  ago  ceased  to  be  "Miss  Costello"  to  all 
his  people,  and  she  started,  as  though  he  had  touched 
her,  the  hot  tide  of  blood  rushing  back  into  her  face. 

The  car  was  barely  moving;  he  bent  closer  to  her. 
"You're  not  angry .f*     Say  you  will  come!" 

Then  at  last  she  met  his  glance,  her  own  eyes  alight 
with  sudden  exultation. 

"I'm  not  angry — I  will  come." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"Listen,  Mary!  Will  this  do?"  Daisy  looked  up 
from  the  flimsy  little  walnut  escritoire  that  was  her 
special  pride,  and  smoothed  out  a  sheet  of  pink  note- 
paper  that  she  had  just  covered  with  round,  childish 
writing. 

*'Go  on!  What  is  it?  Mary  was  tucking  a  white 
muslin  collar  that  was  to  adorn  her  linen  dress  at 
Kilmeaden,  and  the  attention  she  gave  to  Daisy  was 
divided. 

"Can't  you  listen,  then! — 'Dear  Isabel,  I  am  writ- 
ing to  ask  you  to  join  us  on  Thursday  evening  at 
about  eight.  We  are  having  a  few  people  here,  as 
it's  our  last  night  before  going  to  Kilmeaden.'  " 

Daisy  put  down  the  note  and  looked  across  at  her 
sister.  "I  must  say  that,  you  know.  If  I  said  it 
was  a  dance,  half  Waterford  would  be  indignant  be- 
cause they  weren't  asked." 

"Well,  go  on!" 

"  'Also,  I  am  very  anxious  to  have  you  with  us  for 
a  few  days  in  the  country.  It  will  only  be  a  sort  of 
family  party ;  but  if  you  don't  mind  that,  I  wish  you 
would  arrange  to  come  out  for  a  week.  We  could 
fix  about  it  on  Thursday.  With  kind  regards  to  Miss 
Costello,  I  am,  yours  sincerely,  Daisy  Carey.'  It 
sounds  fearfully  abrupt,  doesn't  it?" 

Mary  was  threading  her  needle.     "Not  at  all!"  she 


THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  191 

said  conclusively.  "It's  too  agreeable,  if  you  ask 
me!" 

"Oh,  Polly !" 

"Yes,  'tis.  And  I  think  you're  a  great  fool,  Daisy, 
to  be  led  into  asking  her  at  all." 

Daisy  folded  the  pink  note  and  slowly  put  it  into 
an  envelope.  "It's^  awfully  hard  always  to  do  the 
right  thing,"  she  complained.  "I'm  sure  I  don't  want 
her  any  more  than  you  do,  but  I  can't  have  the 
Nevilles  and  the  Cranes  and  all  that  crowd  saying 
we  ruined  her  chances ;  and  you  know  they  have  said 
it !"  Strengthened  by  her  argument,  she  fastened  the 
envelope  and  addressed  it. 

Mary  pursed  up  her  lips  and  began  a  fresh  tuck. 

"Well,  I  hope  it's  for  the  best !"  Daisy  looked  at  the 
envelope,  weakening  again. 

Mary  kept  silent. 

"Polly,  why  on  earth  can't  you  say  something?" 

"I  never  give  advice  where  it  isn't  wanted.  You  can 
do  what  you  like,  of  course;  I'm  sure,  I  only  hope 
you  won't  regret  it." 

"Don't  say  things  like  that!    They  depress  me." 

"Don't  be  depressed  without  cause — you  may  have 
it  some  time." 

"Mary,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you  to- 
day?" 

But  Mary  was  not  disposed  to  be  communicative; 
and  presently,  having  waited  in  vain  for  some  sign, 
Daisy  in  common  justification  of  herself  was  com- 
pelled to  ring  for  Julia  and  send  her  letter  to  the  post. 


192  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Well,  it's  gone  now,  any  way !"  she  said  with  relief. 
*'For  goodness'  sake,  let  us  forget  it,  and  talk  about 
the  dance!"  She  got  up  from  her  desk  and  came 
round  to  Mary's  side. 

"Polly,  I  wonder  if  'twould  be  better,  after  all,  to 
have  a  *sit  down'  supper?" 

"Supper !  What  on  earth  for?  Isn't  it  a  'Cinderella' 
dance  ?" 

"Yes,  but  you  know  they  won't  go  at  twelve." 

"I  didn't  say  they  would.  But  as  long  as  they  know 
it's  'Cinderella,'  they  know  they'll  get  nothing  to  eat. 
Indeed,  I'd  be  long  sorry  to  give  them  anything  but 
tea  and  coffee  and  ices." 

"Stephen  insists  on  chicken  and  ham  at  least." 

'*What  nonsense !     A  lot  Stephen  knows  about  it !" 

"Well,  I  can't  help  it.  He  says  men  must  have  some- 
thing to  eat." 

"Rubbish!  If  men  have  something  to  drink,  it's 
much  more  to  the  purpose." 

"Polly,  how  can  you!"     Daisy  looked  shocked. 

Mary  let  her  sewing  lie  idle  in  her  lap.  "  'Pon  my 
word,  Daisy,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  her  sister, 
"you're  like  a  girl  at  school !  How  on  earth  a  married 
woman  with  three  children  can  keep  on  being  shocked 
at  this,  and  shocked  at  that,  like  you  do,  is  more  than 
I  can  understand!  Do  you  really  think  life  is  all 
visiting  and  dressing  and  fussing  over  babies?" 

Daisy  looked  deeply  offended.  "I  think  you  say  very 
queer  things  sometimes,  Mary!  I  don't  think  a  nice 
woman   ought   to   want   to   know   anything   outside 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  193 

her  home — and  I'm  sure  Stephen  wouldn't  wish 
me  to." 

Mary's  lip  curled.  "Oh,  that's  quite  likely !  There's 
nothing  so  convenient  to  the  ordinary  man  as  an  ig- 
norant wife." 

Daisy  flushed.  "I'm  as  well  educated  as  you,  Mary 
— though  I  may  not  read  Tolstoy  and  Zola,  and  those 
horrible  foreign  writers." 

Mary  laughed.  "Oh,  Fm  not  talking  of  mathemat- 
ics or  Euclid;  I  know  you  passed  your  exams,  at 
school." 

"What  do  you  mean,  then.?" 

"Never  mind !    Wasn't  that  a  ring  at  the  hall  door.?" 

In  a  moment  the  little  skirmish  was  forgotten.  Mary 
rolled  up  her  work  and  thrust  it  behind  a  vase ;  while 
Daisy  flew  to  the  glass  over  the  mantelpiece  to  ar- 
range her  hair. 

"Who  can  it  be.?" 

"How  do  I  know?     Sit  down,  for  goodness'  sake!" 

As  they  made  a  rush  for  their  respective  chairs,  the 
door  opened. 

"Why,  it's  only  Father  James !"  Daisy  cried  in  a 
tone  of  relief,  and  they  both  rose  and  went  forward 
towards  the  door. 

Father  Baron  came  into  the  room  with  his  usual  de- 
liberate slowness,  and  put  out  a  hand  to  each  of  them. 

"Well !  Well !  Well !  A  very  dull  visitor,  I  suppose !" 

"Indeed,  no!"  Daisy  cried.  "We  were  just  dread- 
ing 'twas  some  woman.  Come  in.  Father  James !  Were 
you  down  with  Stephen.?" 


194  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

He  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  into  the  room.  "In- 
deed, I  had  lunch  with  him,"  he  said;  "and  he  told 
me  he'd  be  on  here  after  me.  And  how  is  Miss  Mary  ?" 
He  turned  his  small,  dark,  kindly  eyes  from  Daisy's 
face  to  her  sister's  with  a  glance  of  absolute  goodwill. 

Mary  looked  up  at  him  frankly,  for  in  the  light  of 
the  old  man's  simplicity  her  sarcasm  always  lost  point. 

"As  well  as  we  can  expect  to  be  in  this  world.  Father 
James." 

"Oh,  come,  come,  Mary!"  he  cried.  "That's  not 
the  way  to  talk !  It's  for  the  like  of  me  to  be  saying 
that,  with  my  sixty-ninth  birthday  coming  on  next 
week,  and  my  poor  bones  eaten  up  with  the  rheuma- 
tism!   It's  a  shame  for  her  now,  Daisy,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh,  Daisy  will  agree  with  you!  We  were  fighting 
when  you  came  in." 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  smile.  "And 
what  harm  if  you  were!"  was  his  characteristic  re- 
tort. "Sure,  life  wouldn't  be  worth  anything  at  all 
if  it  wasn't  for  a  fight  now  and  again.  Hard  words 
break  no  bones !" 

They  both  laughed  at  his  unanswerable  philosophy. 

"You're  awfully  funny,  Father  James !  I  believe 
you'd  find  an  excuse  for  Lucifer !" 

"Well,  child,  and  maybe  I  would,"  he  said.  "Daisy, 
am  I  going  to  see  the  sons  at  all."^" 

Daisy  flushed  with  pleasure.  "Oh,  would  you  like 
to  ?  I'll  run  up  for  them !  I  won't  be  a  minute ! 
They'd  love  to  see  you."  She  hurried  across  to  the 
door,  attractive  at  once  in  her  spontaneous  natural 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  195 

pride  in  the  thought  of  her  children.  "I  won't  be 
long!  I  won't  be  a  minute!"  she  cried  as  she  disap- 
peared. 

As  the  door  closed  upon  her,  Father  Baron  turned 
again  to  Mary.    "Well,  child,"  he  said  affectionately, 
"I  don't  think  I  saw  you  since  that  night  of  that  din- 
ner-party!    Is  Master  Tom  as  busy  as  ever,  regen- 
erating the  country?" 
"As  silly  as  ever,  you  mean.  Father  James!" 
"Ah,  now !    Ah,  now !"  he  said  gently.    "We  mustn't 
judge  any  one  too  quick,  Mary!    And  tell  me  what 
about  that  little  gipsy  that  was  here  ?  I  asked  Stephen 
to-day  if  it's  true  what  they're  saying  about  her  and 
Frank,  but  he  didn't  seem  to  like  the  question,  so  I 
didn't  press  it." 
"Oh,  Isabel  Costello!     I'm  sick  of  her  very  name!" 
Father  James  looked  grave.  "Mary !  Mary !  Mary ! 
Is  that  the  child  that  made  her  first  confession  to 
me!" 
"Oh,  well,  I  can't  help  it,  Father  James  P' 
"And  what  has  the  poor  gipsy  done?" 
"I  can't  explain  to  you.     She  is  different  from  the 
rest  of  us." 

He  smiled  indulgently.  "And  perhaps  a  little 
change  is  no  harm !" 
"Or  it  may  be  great  harm,  Father  James." 
He  glanced  at  her  searchingly,  but  when  he  spoke 
again  it  was  in  the  same  gentle  tone.  "Ah,  well!" 
he  said;  "it's  not  for  us  to  judge  her,  Mary.  The 
poor  child  will  meet  her  own  troubles," 


196  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

It  was  Mary's  turn  to  look  shrewdly  at  him. 

"What  makes  you  say  that,  Father  James?" 

"Well,  I  only  saw  her  the  once,  of  course — and  I'm 
open  to  make  a  mistake;  but  it  struck  me  then  that 
maybe  life  wouldn't  be  too  easy  for  her.  She's 
one,  Grod  help  her,  that'll  be  asking  too  much  from 
it!" 

Mary  walked  slowly  across  the  room,  and  took  her 
muslin  collar  from  behind  the  vase. 

"Father  James,"  she  said  with  apparent  irrelevance, 
"how  did  you  think  Stephen  Carey  looking?" 

Whatever  may  have  been  Father  Baron's  thought, 
his  answer  was  non-committal.  "Indeed,  we  had  so 
much  to  talk  about,  Mary,"  he  said,  "that  I  didn't 
take  any  great  notice.  But  here's  Daisy  with  the 
children !" 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  opened  and  Daisy  entered, 
smiling  and  unaffected,  with  one  small  boy  walking 
close  to  her  skirts  and  another,  a  couple  of  years 
younger,  held  in  her  arms. 

"I'm  so  sorry.  Father  James,  Baby  is  asleep !  But 
I  brought  you  Ted  and  Francis." 

"Well !  Well !  Wasn't  that  bad  manners  of  Master 
James,  now?  To  be  asleep  after  his  namesake  com- 
ing all  the  way  from  Scarragh  to  see  him!  I  don't 
think  Ted  would  do  a  thing  like  that."  In  this  round- 
about, tactful  way  he  banished  any  shyness  the  elder 
boy  might  feel,  and  drew  him  into  speech  before  he 
was  aware. 

"I  think  Baby  is  a  silly  fellow,"  he  said,  stepping 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  197 

from  his  mother's  side,  and  looking  up  into  the  priest's 
face.     "He's  asleep  half  the  day." 

Father  James  put  his  hand  on  the  small  red  head, 
with  a  touch  as  gentle  as  a  woman's,  and  raised  the 
intelligent,  freckled  little  face. 

"Is  he,  now,  Ted?"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "Is  he, 
now.?"  Then  he  shook  oif  the  momentary  gravity 
that  the  child's  presence  had  aroused,  and  turned  to- 
wards the  second  boy,  who  was  hiding  a  very  fair 
head  against  his  mother's  shoulder. 

"Well,  young  man,"  he  said,  making  no  attempt  to 
touch  him,  "and  what  do  you  think  about  this  brother 
of  yours?" 

The  child  raised  his  face  an  inch  or  two,  and  took  a 
sidelong  look  at  the  priest. 

"Come,  now!  Come,  now,  love!  Speak  to  Father 
James !  That's  a  good  boy !"  Very  gently  Daisy 
set  him  down  on  the  ground,  pushing  him  slowly  for- 
ward.    "Shake  hands,  now,  and  give  him  a  kiss !" 

Overpowered  by  the  shyness  that  is  the  charm  of 
many  Irish  children,  Francis  clung  to  her  fingers, 
pressing  close  to  her  skirts  for  protection. 

But  the  old  priest  understood  the  childish  heart  far 
too  intimately  to  make  any  onslaught;  so,  quietly 
turning  his  back,  he  moved  to  a  distant  chair,  from 
which  he  beckoned  confidentially  to  Ted. 

"All  right!  Very  well!"  he  said.  "But  I  think  I 
know  somebody  that'll  have  a  ride  on  Father  James's 
horses.  Come,  Ted !  We're  going  to  take  the  horses 
out.     Come,  now!     What  are  their  names?" 


198  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"I  know !  I  remember,  Father  James !  'Trample- 
the-Daisy'  and  ' Spatter- the-Dew' !"  In  high  delight, 
Ted  rushed  forward  and  placed  himself  between  the 
old  priest's  knees,  looking  up  excitedly  into  his  face. 

Father  James  smiled  down  at  him  in  as  much  pride 
as  if  he  were  his  own  son.  "That's  it,  Ted !  That's 
right!  Come,  now,  they're  wild  to  be  off!  Pick  up 
the  reins  like  a  man."  He  began  to  move  his  feet  to 
imitate  the  movements  of  an  impatient  horse. 

Ted,  flushed  with  excitement  and  earnestness,  put  his 
round  little  hand  on  the  cheap  black  cord  that  served 
the  priest  as  a  watch-chain. 

"Well,  now!    Which  will  you  have.?" 

"  'Trample-the-Daisy,'  Father  James !" 

"All  right!  Up  you  go!"  He  hoisted  him  tri- 
umphantly on  to  one  knee,  where  he  sat  astride,  with 
tightened  legs  and  hands  that  gripped  the  watch- 
chain  for  life  or  death. 

But  a  shriek  of  protest  from  the  other  end  of  the 
room  stopped  the  game,  as  Francis,  with  outstretched 
arms  and  unsteady  feet,  lurched  forward,  followed  by 
his  mother.  Reaching  the  priest's  side,  he  put  one 
fat  hand  on  the  vacant  knee,  and  looked  up  into  his 
face  with  bright,  shy  eyes. 

"Me  yide,  too!"  he  said. 

For  an  instant  Father  James  looked  down  into  the 
anxious  little  face ;  then  with  an  infinitely  gentle 
movement  he  lifted  the  child  and  held  him  close. 
"Why,  then,  indeed  you  will !"  he  said.  "You'll  ride 
the  best  horse   in  Father   James's   stable — the  best 


THE  FLY  ON    THE   WHEEL  199 

horse  vacant,"  he  added,  seeing  Ted's  face  fall.  "And 
that's  'Spatter-the-Dew' !" 

There  was  uproar  in  the  drawing-room  for  the  next 
ten  minutes;  and  while  it  was  yet  at  its  height, 
the  door  opened  and  Carey  walked  into  the 
room. 

Usually  Carey's  full  favour  was  meted  out  to  his 
sons.  For  years  past,  the  sum  of  pride  and  of  ambi- 
tion had  centred  round  their  sturdy  limbs,  their 
bright  faces,  the  promise  of  intelligence  in  their  halt- 
ing speech ;  and  usually,  coming  upon  such  a  scene  as 
this,  he  would  have  flung  his  cares  from  him  and, 
throwing  himself  into  the  tide  of  young  life,  have 
become  young  himself  in  his  children's  happiness. 
But  to-day  it  was  different;  to-day  he  stood  just  in- 
side the  door,  looking,  but  saying  nothing. 

"Oh,  father,  father !  I'm  winning !  'Trample-the- 
Daisy'  is  winning !  Father,  he's  won !  He's  won !" 
Ted's  voice  rose  shrill  with  excitement,  as  Father 
James  allowed  his  legs  to  subside  into  well-earned  rest, 
and,  taking  his  arm  from  round  the  younger  boy, 
wiped  his  streaming  forehead. 

Then  Carey  came  forward  into  the  room.  "Daisy," 
he  said  severely,  "you  oughtn't  to  allow  them  to  play 
on  Father  James  like  that !  It's  disgraceful !  He's 
perfectly  exhausted." 

Father  Baron  laughed.  "I  wish  I  was  oftener  ex- 
hausted, then.  That's  all  I  have  to  say  !  Now,  Fran- 
cis, are  you  fond  of  Father  James.?" 

With  a  charming  shy  grace  the  child  looked  up. 


200  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Is !"  he  said  simply,  and  put  up  his  mouth  to  be 
kissed. 

The  old  priest  touched  his  lips  almost  reverently, 
and  the  two  children  slid  to  the  ground  and  ran 
across  to  their  father. 

Stephen  put  a  hand  on  either  head;  and  to  Mary 
and  Father  James,  both  watching  closely,  it  almost 
seemed  that  impatience  crossed  the  tenderness  of  the 
act. 

"Take  them  upstairs,  Daisy!"  he  said  a  moment 
after.  "I  have  a  splitting  headache.  Run  off,  now, 
like  good  boys !"    He  stooped  quickly  and  kissed  them. 

Daisy  and  Mary  went  out,  each  leading  one  of  the 
children,  and  as  the  door  closed  on  them  Carey  threw 
himself  into  a  chair. 

"I'm  dog  tired !"  he  said. 

Father  James — who  had  instructed  him  for  the 
sacraments,  married  him,  and  baptised  his  children — 
knew  him  too  well  to  proffer  any  sympathy.  He  sat 
quite  still,  fingering  his  watch-chain,  and  waiting  for 
the  next  outbeak. 

It  came  before  very  long.  "Good  God,  but  I  am 
tired!"  Stephen  sat  forward,  taking  his  head  be- 
tween his  hands. 

"You're  overworked.  Kilmeaden  will  put  you  right." 

"Kilmeaden !"  He  laughed  sarcastically  ;  then  his 
tone  changed.  *'You'll  come  out  to  us.  Father  James 
— next  month,  anyway?" 

Father  James  looked  deprecating.  "I  don't  know 
that  I  ought,  Stephen !    I  oughtn't  to  be  going  there 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  201 

every  year,  taking  up  room.    An  old  priest  is  a  clog 

on  young  people." 
"What  nonsense !    I'll  be  glad  enough  to  have  you, 

for  one.     The  place  will  be  infested  with  Norrises." 
"Stephen  i  Stephen !    You're  in  a  black  mood !" 
Carey  was  silent  for  a  while,  then  he  lifted  his  face. 

"It's  not  me,  Father  James,"  he  said;  "it's  the  world 

that's  out  of  joint." 


CHAPTER  XX 

In  the  bedrooms  at  Lady  Lane  the  curtains  had  been 
removed  from  the  windows,  the  blinds  pulled  down, 
and  the  mattresses  on  the  beds  rolled  up  and  covered 
with  brown  paper,  while  downstairs  the  drawing-room 
furniture  had  been  stacked  away,  chair  on  chair,  and 
loomed  forth,  rigid  and  ghostly,  under  its  holland 
shroud.  With  the  exception  of  the  dining-room, 
Daisy's  bedroom,  and  the  drawing-room,  the  house 
spoke  eloquently  of  immediate  desertion ;  but  in  these 
three  instances  the  contrast  was  marked.  In  the  din- 
ing-room the  big  gasalier  was  fully  lighted — a  sure 
token  of  festivity,  and  the  long  table  groaned  under 
a  weight  of  hams,  chickens,  creams,  and  jellies;  in 
Daisy's  bedroom  the  dressing-table,  brightly  lighted 
with  wax  candles,  was  set  out  with  the  trays  of  pins 
and  hairpins,  the  silver-backed  brushes,  even  the  box 
of  crushed  starch  suitable  to  a  night  of  entertain- 
ment; while  in  the  drawing-room — ^the  centre  and 
pivot  of  the  coming  gaiety — a  long  stretch  of  waxed 
floor,  a  piano  drawn  into  a  remote  corner,  and  a  row 
of  chairs  standing  like  sentinels  against  the  wall,  pro- 
claimed aloud  that  it  was  the  hour  before  a  dance. 

It  was  eight  o'clock,  and  the  soft  evening  light  was 
making  a  valiant  attempt  to  struggle  through  the 
chinks  of  the  Venetian  blinds  and  offer  a  challenge  to 
the  flood  of  gaslight  filling  the  room;  by  the  white 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  203 

marble  mantelpiece  Daisy,  in  a  pretty  gauze  dress, 
was  dividing  her  attention  between  a  bank  of  gerani- 
ums and  maidenhair  fern  clustering  on  the  mantel- 
board,  and  her  own  image  reflected  in  the  mirror; 
while  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  Mary  was  sprink- 
ling French  chalk  from  a  flour-dredger,  while  Tom 
Norris  followed  after,  working  it  into  the  floor  by 
long,  sliding  steps. 

At  last  Mary  stopped,  shaking  some  of  the  chalk 
from  her  skirt.  "That'll  do  now !  Nobody  can  walk 
across  the  room  if  it's  slippier  than  this." 

Tom  took  a  flying  slide  down  the  room.  "It's 
grand !"  he  announced.  "Have  a  turn,  Polly !  Daisy, 
play  us  a  waltz !" 

Daisy  looked  round.  "Ah,  no,  Tom !  I'm  much  too 
nervous  !     Supposing  anybody  came !" 

"Well,  and  if  they  did,  couldn't  you  stop?  We'd 
hear  the  ring.     Come  on,  don't  be  so  disagreeable !" 

She  moved  slowly  towards  the  piano.  "Isn't  it 
frightful,  Miss  Maguire  not  being  here  yet !  I  think 
when  you  pay  a  person  to  play,  the  least  they  might 
do  is  to  be  punctual.    What  waltz  do  you  want?" 

"Anything  at  all,  only  hurry  up !" 

Still  with  reluctance,  she  began  to  play  a  musical 
comedy  tune,  and  Tom  advanced  upon  Mary.  "Come 
along,  Poll!  We'll  have  a  fling  before  anybody 
comes." 

But  Mary  pushed  him  off  with  considerable  vigour. 
"Indeed,  you'll  put  on  your  gloves  if  you're  going 
to  dance  with  me!" 


204  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"What's  the  matter  with  my  hands?  I  washed  them 
before  dinner." 

"I'll  stop,  if  you  don't  begin!"  Daisy  announced. 
"I'm  not  going  to  play  all  night,  while  you  stand 
there  fighting!" 

Tom  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  grudgingly 
drew  a  pair  of  white  gloves  from  his  coat-tail 
pocket. 

But  notwithstanding  her  little  triumph,  Mary  was 
never  called  upon  to  execute  the  preliminary  dance; 
for,  while  Tom  was  still  fumbling  with  his  glove  but- 
tons, the  hall-door  bell  pealed  loudly  and  Daisy's  waltz 
came  to  a  confused  end. 

"Good  Heavens !  It's  somebody !"  she  cried.  "Miss 
Maguire  would  never  attempt  to  ring  like  that.  Mary, 
for  goodness'  sake,  come  and  stand  near  me !  I  won- 
der where  Stephen  is.?" 

*'0h,  Stephen  has  only  just  commenced  to  shave!" 

"Hurry!  Can't  you  hurry,  Mary!  I  hear  them 
coming  upstairs.  Tom,  remember  you  must  talk, 
whoever  it  is ;  and  if  it's  any  one  at  all  passee,  you 
must  engage  dances.     Now,  don't  forget !" 

*'Don't  be  afraid!  You  won't  give  me  a  chance  to. 
I'll  never  forget  your  picnic  last  year.  I  spent  the 
whole  of  a  gorgeous  afternoon  opening  soda-water 
bottles ;  and  then,  when  it  came  to  evening,  and  I 
might  have  had  some  fun,  I  was  packed  off  to  ride 
home  with  Mrs.  Fisher,  because  she  was  so  short- 
sighted she  might  run  into  something !  Oh,  no,  Daisy, 
I  know  my  place  at  your  parties !" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  205 

"Be  quiet,  for  goodness'  sake !"  whispered  Daisy 
nervously,  as  the  door  was  opened  and  Julia's  flushed 
face  was  thrust  forward. 

"Miss  Costello,  ma'am!"  she  announced. 

Mary,  whose  back  was  to  the  door,  made  a  wry  face, 
but  Daisy  looked  relieved. 

"Oh,  Isabel!"  she  said.    "How  are  you.?" 

Isabel  stepped  into  the  room,  then  paused,  discon- 
certed at  finding  herself  the  first  guest. 

"Oh,  I'm  too  early !"  she  said.  "Our  clock  must  be 
wrong." 

"Not  at  all,  Miss  Costello !  Not  at  all !"  Tom  came 
forward  good-naturedly.  "It's  only  that  Waterford 
people  think  it  fashionable  to  be  late.  How  are  you !" 
He  took  her  hand,  smiling  with  involuntary  admira- 
tion. 

For  Isabel  was  radiant  to-night.  For  the  first  time 
since  the  Fair  Hill  dance  she  was  wearing  the  white 
muslin  dress  that  had  honoured  her  debut;  and  with 
the  consciousness  of  her  finery,  some  of  the  first  pride 
had  returned.  To-night,  too,  she  was  carrying  an 
old  Spanish  fan,  and  wearing  a  high  tortoiseshell 
comb,  that  in  a  moment  of  generosity  Miss  Costello 
had  unearthed  from  a  chest  of  family  relics ;  and  as 
she  stepped  into  the  lighted  room,  she  brought  with 
her  an  air,  a  distinction,  that  might  have  belonged 
to  another  generation, — a  charm  beside  which  Daisy 
and  Mary  sank  into  insignificance. 

They  both  looked  at  her,  appraising  her  shrewdly 
from  her  high-heeled  slippers  to  the  tip  of  the  beauti- 


206  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

ful  old  comb;  then  Daisy  stepped  forward.  "How 
are  jou?"  she  said  again,  a  little  less  eagerly. 

Isabel  took  her  hand.  "I  must  thank  you  about 
Kilmeaden,"  she  said  at  once,  "It's  very,  very  kind 
of  you !" 

"Not  at  all!"  said  Daisy,  a  little  awkwardly.  "I 
hope  you'll  come.  Any  time  next  month  will  suit  us ; 
we'll  be  perfectly  settled  in  a  week  or  two." 

Isabel's  lips  parted  to  reply,  but  before  she  could 
frame  the  words,  Mary  stepped  forward,  an  aggra- 
vating little  sneer  on  her  lips.  "I  don't  suppose  Isa- 
bel will  care  much  for  Kilmeaden." 

"Oh,  why  not,  Polly .?"  Tom  cried.  "Kilmeaden  isn't 
half  bad,  as  the  country  goes." 

*'I  wasn't  thinking  of  Kilmeaden  itself.  I  was  only 
wondering  how  she'd  like  the  party."  She  turned  to 
Isabel.  "Can  you  imagine  yourself  having  a  good 
time  with  only  Daisy  and  me  and  Tom  and  Father 
Baron.?" 

Isabel  coloured  under  the  glance  levelled  at  her, 
for  Mary's  sharp  green  eyes  could  convey  a  mul- 
titude of  words  that  never  found  vent  in  speech. 
"I — I  imagine  'twould  be  very  nice,"  she  said 
confusedly. 

Mary  laughed.  "Oh,  that's  all  right,  then!  And, 
of  course,  I  didn't  count  the  party  quite  rightly. 
There'll  be  Stephen  as  well."  Her  glance  held  the 
other's  in  a  satirical,  unfriendly  stare. 

Tom  and  Daisy  saw  nothing  of  the  little  duel  of 
looks ;  but  Isabel,  swift  of  intuition,  acknowledged 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  207 

the  cut  and  thrust,  and  in  a  second  pride  surged  up, 
ousting  reason,  expediency,  even  personal  desire. 

She  caught  her  breath,  and  the  first  words  that  came 
to  her  lips  poured  out,  one  upon  the  other. 

"You  didn't  let  me  finish  while  ago,"  she  said.  "I 
was  just  going  to  say  to  Mrs.  Carey  that  I'm  sure 
'twould  be  lovely  at  Kilmeaden,  but  that  I'm  afraid 
my  aunt  won't  be  able  to  let  me  go.'* 

Amazement  spread  over  Daisy's  face.  "But  why 
not?"  she  said.     "I  thought  it  was  settled." 

"Oh,  why.  Miss  Costello?"  Tom  cried. 

But  like  the  preliminary  dance,  Isabel's  possible  ex- 
planation was  forgotten  in  the  sound  of  the  door  bell, 
and  presently  Daisy,  Mary,  and  Tom  were  submerged 
in  a  sea  of  arriving  guests. 

As  they  disappeared  from  her  sight,  Isabel  drew 
back  against  the  wall.  Never  until  that  moment  had 
she  realised  how  poignantly  interesting  the  visit  to 
Kilmeaden  had  been — ^how  closely  she  had  counted  on 
it — how  vividly  every  hour  of  it  had  been  pictured 
by  her  imagination ;  and  as  the  vision  crumbled,  a 
sick  sense  of  loss  and  of  futility  surged  up,  darken- 
ing the  world. 

While  she  stood  there,  hiding  herself  behind  the 
laughing  crowd,  the  musician  passed  up  the  room  to 
the  piano,  and  amid  a  hum  of  excitement  partners 
were  chosen  for  the  first  dance. 

With  the  opening  bars  of  the  waltz  the  throng  in 
front  of  her  melted  away,  and  immediately  she  was 
seen  and  seized  upon. 


208  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"I  thought  I'd  never  find  you !"  cried  the  familiar 
voice  of  Willie  Neville.  "Give  me  a  dance,  do !  The 
others  will  be  up  in  a  minute,  and  I  won't  have  a 
chance." 

She  smiled  vaguely.  "If  you  like,"  she  said,  think- 
ing it  would  be  easier  to  reconcile  her  disappointment 
whirling  round  the  room  under  Willie's  laboured 
guidance  than  standing  awkwardly  alone.  So  Willie 
had  the  privilege  of  leading  her  out  into  the  circle 
of  dancers,  feeling  that  the  eyes  of  every  man  followed 
him  with  envy. 

They  danced  the  waltz  to  the  end;  and,  still  elated 
by  his  triumph,  he  led  her  towards  the  door. 

"You'll  have  a  cup  of  tea,  won't  you .'"'  he  said,  wip- 
ing his  streaming  forehead,  for  the  night  was  hot 
and  the  dance  had  been  long. 

"Yes,  I'll  have  some  tea." 

This  was  the  extent  of  their  conversation  as  they 
passed  downstairs,  a  dozen  noisy  couples  making  a 
passage  in  front  of  them,  another  dozen  following 
upon  their  heels ;  and  when  they  entered  the  dining- 
room  and  Willie,  still  hot  and  beaming,  forced  a  way 
to  the  table,  she  took  the  cup  of  tea  from  his  hand 
with  scarcely  a  glance. 

**Aren't  you  enjoying  yourself  to-night.?"  he  asked, 
struck  suddenly  by  her  silence,  and  moved  to  blunt 
expression. 

The  question  roused  her;  she  looked  at  him  and 
smiled  again,  this  time  more  kindly. 

"Do  you  know,  I'm  not,  Willie !"  she  said  candidly ; 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  209 

*'and  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it,  if  anybody  had  told 
me  I  could  be  at  a  dance  and  not  adore  it !" 

"But  why?"  he  asked. 

"Because  I've  been  a  fool — and  because  I'm  angry 
with  myself." 

"It's  a  great  mistake  to  be  angry  with  yourself," 
said  a  voice  behind  them,  "because  you'll  have  nobody 
to  go  to  for  sympathy." 

The  voice  came  with  absolute  unexpectedness,  and 
Isabel's  cup  made  a  nervous  little  clatter  in  its  saucer, 
as  she  turned  sharply  to  meet  Carey's  eyes. 

It  was  only  a  matter  of  half  a  dozen  words,  but  their 
influence  was  magical.  Interest  flashed  out  like  light- 
ning from  the  black  cloud  of  disappointment;  in  an 
instant  the  chatter  of  voices  about  her,  the  tapping  of 
feet  overhead,  the  hum  and  stir  pervading  the  house, 
took  on  shape  and  meaning. 

Forgetful  of  her  partner's  existence,  she  allowed 
Carey  to  take  her  empty  cup,  while  her  heart  leaped  at 
his  next  words. 

"The  second  dance  is  beginning,  will  you  give  it  to 
me.?" 

"Willie  Neville  drew  back,  thinking  it  was  unneces- 
sary of  Carey,  even  though  he  was  the  host,  to  ap- 
propriate the  prettiest  girl  in  the  room,  and  pitying 
Isabel. 

"Can  I  have  another  later  on?"  he  ventured,  as 
Carey  offered  his  arm.  And  Isabel,  soaring  high  on 
the  wings  of  joy,  gave  him  a  smile  such  as  he  had 
never  received  in  all  his  narrow  life. 


210  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Two,  if  you  like !"  she  said. 

Neither  she  nor  Carey  spoke  as  they  made  their  way 
through  the  press  of  people  circling  round  the  tea- 
table,  but  outside  in  the  hall  he  paused  and  looked 
down  at  her. 

*'Do  you  want  to  dance?" 

*'Not  unless  you  like."  She  was  strangely  content 
to  do  as  he  willed. 

"Then  we'll  sit  it  out !"  He  drew  her  down  the  hall 
towards  two  vacant  chairs.  "Sit  down  here,  and  tell 
me  what  the  trouble  is !" 

There  was  an  unfamiliar  note  in  his  voice,  a  sug- 
gestion of  protectiveness,  a  hint  of  tenderness. 

*'0h,  don't  remind  me!"  Isabel  cried,  real  pain  in 
her  voice.  "I'm  so  sorry — so  disappointed — I've  been 
such  a  fool." 

"But  how.?" 

She  opened  and  closed  her  fan  with  a  little  nervous 
movement.    "Please,  don't  ask  me !  I'd  rather  forget." 

"Nonsense!  It's  worth  telling,  if  it  can  make  you 
unhappy."  It  was  remarkable  that  he,  who  had  once 
dealt  so  summarily  with  her,  should  be  so  solicitous 
for  her  now. 

"What  does  that  matter.?" 

*'It  does  matter." 

"To  you.?" 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  while  the  persistent 
waltz  was  hammered  out  upon  the  piano  overhead  and 
the  feet  pounded  unceasing.  Then  at  last  he  an- 
swered without  looking  up,  "Yes." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  211 

She  had  tempted  the  word,  and  now  that  it  came 
it  disconcerted  her.  She  reddened  and,  to  cover  her 
embarrassment,  rushed  into  speech. 

"It  was  only  that  when  I  came  here  to-night,  Mrs. 
Carey  spoke  to  me  about  going  to  Kilmeaden;  and 
just  when  I  was  thanking  her  and  going  to  say  that 
I'd  love  to  come,  Mary  Norris  joined  in,  and " 

"Yes?     Mary  generally  joins  in." 

"I  can't  explain  it  properly,  but  she  was  horrible 
— she  was  detestable!  She  made  me  forget  every- 
thing but  that  I  hated  her,  and  that  I  couldn't  take 
anything  from — from  any  of  them.    And  so " 

"Yes,?"     His  tone  was  low. 

"Oh,  before  I  had  time  to  think,  or  to  realise  what 
I  was  doing,  I  just  said  that  I  was  sorry  I  couldn't 
come  to  Kilmeaden  because  Aunt  Teresa  couldn't 
spare  me.    'Twas  a  lie,  of  course !" 

When  she  had  finished  there  was  a  long  pause. 

"You  might  say  you're  sorry !"  she  added  in  a  plain- 
tive voice. 

Still  Carey  remained  silent. 

"You  might  say  you're  sorry — even  if  'tisn't  true !" 

Ignoring  her  half -flippant  tone,  he  turned  to  her 
with  sudden  seriousness.  "But  you'll  have  to  come," 
he  said.  "You  gave  me  your  word — ^you  promised 
me." 

It  was  the  first  time  since  the  early  days  that  he  had 
used  the  tone  of  authority,  and  to  Isabel  the  familiar 
mastery  brought  a  sudden  thrill. 

"But  how  can  I — now?" 


212  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"You  must." 

"But  how?"  She  felt  like  a  swimmer  who  rejoices  in 
the  lift  and  drop  of  a  strong  wave.  Carey  was  so 
decisive,  so  set  to  his  purpose — so  much  a  man. 

"Shall  I  show  you.''"  he  said. 

While  she  had  been  telling  her  story  he  had  caught 
sight  of  his  wife's  figure  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and 
the  fact  had  held  inspiration.  He  stood  up  now,  and 
slowly  and  uncertainly  Isabel  followed. 

"Come!     Come,  and  I'll  show  you!" 

Without  giving  her  time  to  remonstrate  he  led  her 
down  the  hall,  and  as  they  reached  the  foot  of  the 
staircase  Daisy  came  down,  chattering  and  laughing, 
on  her  partner's  arm. 

"Oh,  Stephen !"  she  said,  as  they  passed  each  other, 
"I  was  wondering  where  you  were.  Do  see  if  any- 
body is  wanting  tea!" 

But  Carey  paused.  "Just  a  second,  Daisy!"  he 
said;  "MacCarthy  will  excuse  you." 

MacCarthy,  the  partner,  immediately  rehnquished 
his  rights  and  passed  on  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
while  Daisy,  looking  a  little  surprised,  remained 
standing  where  she  was,  and  Isabel,  in  sudden  per- 
turbation, let  her  fingers  slip  from  Carey's  arm. 

"It's  only  that  I've  been  talking  to  Miss  Costello, 
Daisy,  and  that  I've  got  her  to  admit  that  her  aunt 
can  very  well  do  without  her.  So  we  may  expect  her  at 
Kilmeaden,  after  all." 

Daisy  looked  relieved.  *'Is  that  all?  I  mean,  is 
it  only  that?"  she  added,  smiling.     "I  was  terrified 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  213 

something  was  going  wrong  with  the  dance.  I'm 
awfully  glad,  Isabel !  We'll  fix  it  all  to-night.  Ex- 
cuse me  now.  I  mustn't  keep  Mr.  MacCarthy."  She 
smiled  again  in  a  preoccupied  way,  and,  without  a 
shadow  of  misgiving,  ran  down  the  stairs. 

To  avoid  the  stream  of  couples  that  was  pouring 
down  upon  them,  Carey  put  his  hand  on  Isabel's  arm 
and  drew  her  back  against  the  bannister.  He  was  a 
step  above  her,  and  could  look  down  into  her  face 
even  more  easily  than  usual. 

"Well,'"'  he  said,  and  in  his  voice  there  was  the  ring 
of  vitality  that  comes  when  a  man  has  shaped  some 
incident  of  his  own  desires. 

Had  they  known  it  then,  they  were  standing  upon 
the  brink:  a  look  or  a  word  might  have  sealed  the 
matter.  But  the  look  and  the  word  were  wanting,  for 
the  comedy  of  the  emotions  is  not  played  consciously 
in  such  surroundings.  When  reality  is  faced  it  is  as 
a  blinding  light  suddenly  revealed,  rather  than  as  a 
pleasant  radiance  to  which  the  eyes  have  grown  ac- 
customed through  many  surreptitious  liftings  of  the 
veil.  Neither  knew,  neither  understood,  and,  without 
doubt,  fate  smiled. 

"Well?"  Carey  said  again. 

Isabel  looked  up — laughed — stammered. 

Something  alluring,  something  childish  in  her  sudden 
shyness,  changed  his  mood.  He  bent  down  quickly. 
"Come !"  he  said,  "give  me  a  dance !  I  feel  young  to- 
night!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Three  weeks  had  passed  since  the  night  of  the  dance 
at  Lady  Lane.  To  Isabel,  they  had  been  three  weeks 
of  ordinary  provincial  life ;  yet  in  her  unconscious 
psychological  development,  the  span  of  time  might 
have  been  three  months — even  three  years,  for  in  that 
brief  chain  of  days  she  had  learned  to  breathe  a  new 
atmosphere,  to  survey  her  life  from  a  changed  stand- 
point. The  past  days,  with  their  favours,  their  fail- 
ures— their  friendship  with  Carey,  blowing  now  hot, 
now  cold — had  been  as  a  kaleidoscope  in  which  her 
excited  senses  had  striven  to  follow  the  bewildering  pat- 
terns, weaving  and  unweaving  themselves  under  her 
gaze;  but  these  three  weeks  with  their  sudden  dul- 
ness,  their  unanticipated  stagnation,  their  conscious- 
ness that  the  interest  that  had  upheld  and  sustained 
her  had  been  abruptly  withdrawn,  were  as  the  merg- 
ing of  the  colours  into  a  definite  pattern  while  the 
mechanism  slowly  ceased  to  work. 

In  those  monotonous  hours  there  had  been  no  deny- 
ing that  it  was  Carey  who  had  given  point  to  the 
weeks  just  passed — Carey's  antagonism  and  Carey's 
interest  that  had  made  her  little  battles  and  her  lit- 
tle conquests  seem  worth  while ;  and  now  that  Carey 
no  longer  figured  as  a  social  quantity,  social  matters 
fell  strangely  flat.  Tennis  at  the  Powers'  and  cro- 
quet at  the  Nevilles'  became  wearisome  when  there  was 


THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  215 

no  longer  the  consoling  thought  that  if  the  afternoon 
proved  tedious  there  was  still  an  evening  at  Fair  Hill 
or  elsewhere  at  which  Stephen  might  unexpectedly 
appear ;  and  realising  this,  she  admitted  to  herself  the 
change  and  the  reason  of  the  change. 

She  admitted  it,  but  made  no  effort  to  alter  the  rou- 
tine of  her  life,  even  shrinking  with  a  new  shyness 
from  the  possibility  of  a  chance  meeting  with  the  ob- 
ject of  her  thoughts.  Towards  one  point  all  her  in- 
terests merged — the  prospective  visit  to  Kilmeaden. 
The  anticipation  of  this  she  hoarded  as  a  miser  hoards 
his  gold,  bringing  it  forth  from  the  recesses  of  her 
mind  in  the  solitude  of  her  room,  dreaming  of  it, 
thrilled  by  the  thought  of  it,  living  it  over  in  anticipa- 
tion hour  by  hour,  moment  by  moment.  There  she 
would  see  Carey  day  after  day,  in  the  close  intimacy 
of  daily  life,  until  every  characteristic,  every  trick 
of  voice  and  manner,  would  become  as  familiar  as 
household  things ;  and  in  this  realm  of  imagination 
she  moved,  spinning  the  scenes  from  her  brain,  weav- 
ing of  them  a  bridge  that  spanned  the  dull  monotony 
that  separated  her  from  the  day  she  craved. 

Of  those  about  her,  no  one  marked  the  change,  no 
one  suspected.  Had  Miss  Costello  been  questioned 
upon  the  passage  of  those  three  weeks,  she  would  first 
have  repudiated  the  idea  of  any  alteration  in  her 
niece;  and  then,  pressed  upon  the  point,  she  would 
have  grudgingly  admitted  that  perhaps  Isabel  had 
spent  more  time  in  her  own  room,  had  walked  oftener 
into  the  country,  and  had  generally  made  life  less 


216  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

turbulent  since  their  acquaintances  had  begun 
to  go  out  of  town  and  Waterford  gaieties  had 
diminished. 

So  the  circle  of  the  weeks  wore  round  with  a  little 
gossip,  a  little  shopping,  a  little  tennis,  and  a  formal 
visit  or  two,  until  the  great  day  dawned. 

Isabel  was  up  at  five,  to  scan  the  first  pearly  sky 
tints  that  presaged  brilliant  weather,  though  if  the 
heavens  had  opened  upon  that  particular  morning 
it  would  not  have  counted  one  black  mark  against  the 
day's  favour.  She  came  down  to  breakfast  the  in- 
carnation of  joy,  and  never  had  Miss  Costello  been 
allowed  to  enjoy  a  meal  under  circumstances  so  serene. 
She  talked  of  the  weather,  of  her  journey,  of  the 
country ;  she  questioned  and  re-questioned  her  aunt 
upon  the  subject  of  Kilmeaden;  she  burned  to  know 
what  the  house  was  like — whether  the  grounds  were 
large — if  there  were  stables.?  Everything  interested 
her,  she  took  everything  in  good  part. 

Then  came  the  last  touches  to  the  packing,  practi- 
cally completed  days  before ;  and  to  participation  in 
this  sacred  act  she  invited  Miss  Costello,  laughing 
and  talking  incessantly  as  she  folded  away  the  last 
handkerchief,  the  last  tulle  bow. 

Everything  was  ready  a  full  hour  too  soon,  for  it 
was  at  eleven  that  the  Skerrybeg  carriage  was  to  call 
at  New  Town  on  its  way  to  Kilmeaden,  from  whence 
it  was  to  bear  Mrs.  Power  back  to  Waterford  after  a 
week's  visit  to  the  Careys. 

Isabel  had  helped  Lizzie  to  carry  the  trunk  down- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  217 

stairs,  and  was  now  sitting  on  it  in  the  hall,  as  she 
drew  on  her  gloves. 

"Well,  and  when  will  you  be  back?"  Miss  Costello 
asked. 

"I  don't  know,  Auntie.     She  said  a  week." 

"Very  well  so !  I'll  be  looking  out  for  you  next 
Monday." 

"Unless  I  write." 

"Oh,  of  course,  unless  you  write.  If  they  ask  you 
to  stay  on,  don't  refuse.  'Twill  be  the  only  outing 
you'll  get  this  summer,  and  you're  looking  a  little 
pale." 

"Pale,  Auntie.?  Am  I?"  She  put  her  hand  appre- 
hensively to  her  cheek. 

"Well,  not  to-day.  You  have  colour  enough  to-day. 
I'm  thinking  of  lately ;  you  looked  a  little  washy 
lately." 

"Washy?  How  horrible!"  She  jumped  up  and 
walked  out  into  the  garden.  The  small  grass  plot 
was  beginning  to  turn  yellow  in  the  summer  heat,  and 
in  the  long  bed  where  the  russet  wall-flowers  had  once 
raised  sturdy  heads  the  earth  was  brown  and  parched, 
and  the  blue  of  the  lobelias  and  the  red  of  the  ge- 
raniums were  marred  by  city  dust. 

"You  ought  to  water  the  poor  flowers.  Auntie." 

"I  ought,"  said  Miss  Costello  helplessly. 

"But  will  you?" 

"I  will.  I'll  get  Lizzie  to  do  it  when  she's  washed 
up  after  tea  this  evening." 

Isabel  shook  her  head ;  then  she  looked  up  at  the  hot 


218  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

white  sky.  "How  heavenly  the  country  will  be!  Is 
it  eleven  yet?" 

"Just." 

"Then  the  car  will  be  here  in  a  minute.  Oh,  Auntie, 
just  imagine!" 

"You're  very  excited  about  it." 

Isabel  turned  away  from  her  aunt's  scrutiny,  only 
to  see  Lizzie  peering  at  her  from  behind  the  curtain 
of  the  parlour  window,  and  at  the  same  moment  the 
Powers'  fat  bay  horse  came  ambling  up  the  hill,  and 
the  roomy  brougham  drew  up,  entirely  dwarfing  the 
little  gate. 

At  the  visible  symbol  of  social  rank,  Isabel  gave  a 
gasp.  "Oh,  Auntie,  if  we  only  had  a  man  to  bring 
out  the  trunk.     Lizzie  looks  so  fearful!" 

"Sure,  I'll  ask  the  coachman."  Miss  Costello 
stepped  forward  across  the  garden. 

"Auntie!    Don't!    Oh,  don't!" 

"What  nonsense,  child!  Why  wouldn't  I.''  Your 
grandfather  kept  a  footman  and  a  coachman.  Good 
morning !"  she  added  in  a  louder  voice  to  the  lethargic- 
looking  individual  on  the  box-seat  of  the  brougham. 
*'Good  morning !  There's  a  little  portmanteau  inside 
in  the  hall,  would  you  mind  coming  in  for  it?" 

Silently,  and  with  obvious  reluctance,  the  fat  coach- 
man fastened  up  his  reins.  A  long  and  lazy  life  in 
Mrs.  Power's  service  had  left  him  unwieldy  both  of 
mind  and  body,  and  Isabel  held  her  breath  as  she 
saw  him  descend  laboriously  from  his  seat. 

"We'd  better  call  Lizzie,  Auntie,"  she  whispered. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  219 

"Not  at  all,  child !  Not  at  all !"  Miss  Costello  was 
enjoying  the  unwonted  position  of  director  in  any 
affair. 

"But  how. will  he  ever  lift  the  trunk!" 

"Be  quiet,  can't  you!"  Miss  Costello  ran  forward 
fussily  and  opened  the  little  gate  as  the  coachman 
stepped  to  the  ground.  "Yes !  Yes !  Up  here !"  she 
explained,  guiding  her  unwilling  henchman  up  the 
strip  of  garden.  "It  looks  a  little  big,  but  it's  really 
no  weight  at  all.  I'd  think  nothing  of  lifting  it  my- 
self, and  the  girl "     She  faltered  as  she  caught 

Isabel's  eye.  "One — one  of  the  maids  brought  it 
downstairs  by  herself." 

Under  this  fire  of  words  he  advanced,  breathing 
heavily,  and  paused  before  Isabel's  big  black  school 
trunk. 

"  'Tis  a  fine  bit  of  a  portmanteau,"  he  said  with  sar- 
casm ;  and  disdaining  further  comment,  stooped  and 
lifted  it  ponderously  to  his  shoulders. 

There  was  a  strained  moment  of  uncertainty  as  he 
tottered  under  the  weight  and  swayed  down  the  path ; 
then  Isabel  clasped  her  hands  in  an  agony  of  appre- 
hension. "Oh,  Auntie,  why  did  you.?*  Why  did  you.'' 
He'll  get  apoplexy  or  something;  and  Mrs.  Power 
thinks  more  of  him  than  of  any  of  the  family.  Look, 
he'll  never  get  it  up  on  the  box-seat !  Quick,  Auntie ! 
Quick!"  Even  as  she  spoke  she  saw  his  great  bulk 
yield  under  its  burden,  and,  rushing  forward,  she  was 
barely  in  time  to  scramble  to  the  box-seat,  seize  a 
strap,  and  drag  the  trunk  into  place. 


220  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Having  saved  the  situation,  she  jumped  to  the 
ground  again,  flushed  but  triumphant.  "I've  torn 
my  glove — but  it's  up !"  she  announced.  "Now,  I 
suppose,  we're  ready !" 

With  his  dignity  too  much  ruffled  to  permit  of 
speech,  Roger,  the  coachman,  chmbed  slowly  to  his 
seat  and  untied  his  reins. 

"Such  nonsense!"  Miss  Costello  muttered.  "Sure, 
I  could  lift  it  myself !" 

*'Well,  it's  all  right  now.  Auntie,  and  the  great 
thing  is  Lizzie  wasn't  seen.  Good-bye !"  With  sud- 
den enthusiasm,  she  threw  her  arms  about  her  aunt's 
neck. 

"Good-bye!  Get  in  now."  On  pretext  of  opening 
the  door.  Miss  Costello  peered  curiously  into  the  re- 
cesses of  the  brougham.  "It's  a  nice,  roomy  car- 
riage," she  said,  enjoying  the  mere  use  of  the  word. 

"I  wish  you  were  coming.  Auntie." 

"Well,  sure  we  can't  have  everything!  Have  you 
your  purse  safe.''" 

"I  have ;  but.  Auntie,  are  you  sure  two  shillings  will 
be  enough  to  give  the  parlour-maid?" 

"Too  much,  if  anything." 

"And,  Auntie,"  Isabel  lowered  her  voice  fearfully, 
*'do  you  think  hell  expect  anything  for  bringing 
down  the  trunk.'"' 

She  nodded  towards  the  broad  back  looming  against 
the  front  window. 

"Indeed,  then,  let  him  expect!     Good-bye,  child!" 

"Good-bye,  Auntie!" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  221 

The  door  of  the  brougham  was  closed,  the  signal 
for  departure  given,  and  the  fat  bay  horse  started 
off  at  a  cautious  trot. 

As  long  as  the  little  house  was  in  sight,  Isabel  leant 
out  of  the  window,  waving  to  the  gaunt  figure  of  Miss 
Costello ;  but,  as  both  house  and  figure  were  gradually 
merged  in  the  suburban  picture,  she  drew  back  into 
the  cushioned  seat  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  pleasure 
of  the  moment. 

At  any  time  this  drive  would  have  been  a  delight, 
for  all  her  nature  yearned  towards  the  pleasantness 
of  life;  but  to-day  the  delight  was  subtly  enhanced, 
being  the  mere  preface  to  all  that  was  to  come.  The 
road  from  Waterford  to  Kilmeaden  has  no  particular 
beauty :  it  is  a  wide,  level  road,  now  open  to  the  sweep 
of  the  winds,  again  arched  over  and  shadowed  by 
thick  clumps  of  trees,  but  the  way  made  little  differ- 
ence,— it  was  all  an  enchanted  pathway  leading  to 
the  unknown. 

Lover  of  speed  though  she  was,  she  felt  no  im- 
patience at  the  ambling  trot  of  the  over- fed  horse; 
if  anything,  she  would  have  prolonged  the  drive,  and 
regret  was  mingled  with  her  excitement  when  at  last 
the  handful  of  houses  dignified  by  the  name  of  Kil- 
meaden came  into  view,  the  carriage  turned  off  into 
a  side  road,  and  she  realised  that  it  was  a  matter  of 
minutes  before  her  destination  was  reached  and  her 
curiosity  satisfied  for  good  and  all. 

Turning  out  of  the  high-road,  they  made  their  way 
down  a  narrow  lane,  skirted  a  stream  in  which  a  band 


222  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

of  ducks  were  splashing  and  quacking,  and  lurched 
across  a  small  stone  bridge;  then  for  a  few  hundred 
yards  they  passed  between  high  hawthorn  hedges  that 
enclosed  them  in  a  bower  of  scent  and  blossom,  until 
these  in  turn  gave  place  to  a  low  fence  that  girded  a 
stretch  of  cornjSeld,  and  beyond  the  waving  grain 
Isabel  caught  her  first  glimpse  of  the  Careys'  house. 

To  know  this  house,  one  should  know  Ireland.  Com- 
panion houses  to  it  are  to  be  found  by  the  dozen  in 
every  one  of  the  counties,  though  the  date  of  their 
building  and  the  style  of  their  architecture  are  alike 
impossible  to  place.  The  similiarity  lies  in  the  white- 
washed exterior,  in  the  solitariness  of  position,  in  the 
air  of  homely  dilapidation  so  racy  of  the  soil.  There 
is  something  sad,  perhaps,  to  alien  eyes,  in  these  neg- 
lected, isolated  dwellings ;  but  to  one  who  has  ever 
called  such  a  place  home,  there  is  a  thrill  in  the  white 
walls  looming  out  of  the  neutral-tinted  landscape,  a 
memory  in  the  very  cracks  and  blisters  on  the  painted 
door,  in  the  very  rattle  of  the  sashes  in  the  high  win- 
dow frames. 

A  five-barred  iron  gate  gave  access  to  the  avenue, 
which  was  more  a  narrow  roadway  than  a  drive  and 
ran  in  a  straight  line  across  the  green  and  marshy 
fields  to  the  doorway  of  the  house.  In  winter  these 
fields  were  wont  to  degenerate  into  bogland,  but  now 
in  the  heat  of  summer  they  were  a  shimmering  car- 
pet, golden  with  buttercups,  on  which  a  dozen  cows 
browsed  peacefully.  As  a  vague  background  to  the 
picture,  Isabel  acknowledged  this  haze  of  gold;  but 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  223 

her  glance,  her  burning  interest,  centred  on  the  house 
itself — the  white  house,  with  its  shabby  door  stand- 
ing ajar,  its  many  windows  looking  out  like  kindly 
eyes  over  the  calm  green  country. 

A  thrill  of  pleasure  and  hope  passed  through  her, 
and  she  rose  from  her  seat  almost  before  the  carriage 
stopped. 

At  the  same  moment,  seemingly  from  nowhere,  Daisy 
appeared  at  the  open  door,  looking  healthy  and  sun- 
burned, and  suggestive  of  country  life. 

"Ah,  there  you  are,  Isabel!  I  was  in  the  garden 
with  Mrs.  Power,  picking  strawberries,  when  I  heard 
the  carriage.  How  are  you  ?  Let  me  help  you  out ! 
Julia !"  she  turned,  calling  back  into  the  house,  "get 
some  one  to  carry  up  Miss  Costello's  trunk!" 

Then  again  she  turned  back  to  Isabel.  "Will  you 
come  into  the  garden  first,"  she  asked,  "and  see  Mrs. 
Power?  We're  all  by  ourselves:  Father  James  is 
reading  his  office  somewhere,  and  Mary  went  up  to 
town  this  morning  to  do  some  shopping.  Roger,  you 
can  take  the  horse  round  to  the  stable.  Mrs.  Power 
won't  be  going  till  two." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  said  Roger,  still  upon  his  dig- 
nity ;  "an',  indade,  'tis  a  rest  the  poor  baste  '11  want !" 

Still  chatting  and  inconsequent,  Daisy  led  her  visitor 
through  the  square,  airy  hall,  whose  only  furniture 
was  a  stand  crowded  with  straw  hats  of  every  age  and 
shape,  and  a  large  deal  table  on  which  were  ranged  a 
row  of  cleanly  red  flower-pots  filled  with  musk. 

From  the  hall  they  passed  into  the  drawing-room, 


224  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

and  here  again  was  the  sense  of  air  and  space.  The 
room  was  high;  a  flood  of  light  poured  into  it  from 
two  long  windows  that  looked  upon  the  fields,  and  a 
mellow  greenness  flooded  in  from  the  garden  through 
a  glass  door  at  the  farther  end.  There  were  some 
good  old  pieces  of  furniture  here,  relics  of  the  former 
owner,  and  a  feeling  of  homeliness  and  use  pervaded 
the  place:  there  were  flowers  in  the  vases,  an  open 
work-basket  stood  on  the  centre  table,  a  novel  of 
Tolstoy's  lay  on  the  top  of  the  piano. 

But  these  things  came  subconsciously  to  Isabel,  for 
Daisy  hurried  forward,  giving  no  time  for  close  ob- 
servation, and  presently  the  two  had  passed  through 
the  glass  door,  and  were  walking  down  the  old  garden 
path  overgrown  by  moss  and  weeds.  The  garden  it- 
self accorded  with  the  house,  it  was  an  acre  of  ground 
run  wild  with  vegetation ;  gnarled  apple-trees  ranged 
side  by  side  with  black-branched  pear-trees  and  im- 
mense, luxuriant  gooseberry  bushes,  while  about  their 
roots  a  riotous  undergrowth  of  rhubarb,  strawberries, 
lavender,  and  thyme  flourished  untended  and  un- 
checked. It  was  a  bewildering  tangle  of  greenness, 
scent,  and  country  freshness,  and  Isabel  paused,  en- 
chanted. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  come  here!"  she  said.  "I  love 
this  place." 

Daisy  looked  gratified.  "Oh,  I  don't  know !  'Tisn't 
a  bad  old  house,  but  the  garden  is  a  terrible  wilder- 
ness. I'm  always  at  Stephen  to  get  it  put  into  some 
sort  of  order,  for  I'm  really  ashamed  when  people 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  225 

like  Mrs.  Power  and  Mrs.  Burke,  who  have  such  lovely 
gardens  of  their  own,  come  out  here.  But  he's  so 
queer;  he  likes  it  as  it  is." 

"Indeed  I  agree  with  him.  I'd  a  thousand  times 
rather  have  it  than  Skerrybeg  or  Fair  Hill." 

"Would  you,  really.''  I  wouldn't.  But  here's  Mrs. 
Power !" 

Mrs.  Power,  in  an  old  black  cashmere  dress,  with 
an  alarmingly  unbecoming  garden-hat  tied  under  her 
chin,  emerged  from  a  side  path:  her  skirt  was  tucked 
up  under  one  arm,  and  she  was  carrying  a  cabbage- 
leaf  full  of  strawberries. 

"And  so  here's  the  visitor !"  she  cried.  "How  are 
you,  Isabel,  dear?  Did  Roger  bring  you  down 
safely.''    And  what's  the  news  in  Waterford.'"' 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  kissed  Isabel 
warmly,  and  broke  into  another  flow  of  words. 

"Let  me  look  at  you,  now!  Indeed  you  have  quite 
a  colour  after  your  drive  down.  I  suppose  they're 
roasted  to  death  up  in  town  with  all  this  dry  weather.'* 
Josephine  tells  me  that  the  lawn  at  home  is  more 
like  tow  than  grass,  for  the  want  of  a  drop  of 
rain." 

"Indeed,  yes,"  agreed  Isabel.  "Every  place  is 
parched  with  the  heat  and  the  dust." 

"We're  near  a  change,  though!"  Daisy  looked  up 
at  the  sky,  where  some  copper-coloured  clouds  were 
gathering  in  the  west. 

"Well,  indeed,  please  God,  we  are!  The  country 
will    be    destroyed    if    this    goes    on    much    longer. 


226  THE   FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Though,  to  be  sure,  the  heat  is  good  for  the  straw- 
berries.    Have  one,  Isabel?" 

Isabel  was  about  to  comply,  but  Daisy  put  her  hand 
over  the  cabbage-leaf. 

"Ah,  no,  Mrs.  Power !  You'll  spoil  her  appetite  for 
lunch,  and  we  have  a  nice  roast  chicken.  Would  you 
like  to  go  up  to  your  room,  Isabel,  before  the  bell 
rings  ?" 

"Of  course  she  would !"  Mrs.  Power  broke  in.  "PU 
take  her  up;  I  have  to  wash  my  own  hands  before 
lunch." 

"All  right,  Mrs.  Power!  The  back-room  over  the 
drawing-room.  That'll  be  your  window,  Isabel !"  She 
indicated  one  of  the  windows  overlooking  the  garden. 

"How  lovely !  I'll  adore  the  view !"  Isabel  smiled 
in  involuntary  pleasure,  and,  with  a  still  further  lift- 
ing of  the  heart,  followed  Mrs.  Power  through  the 
drawing-room  and  hall,  and  up  the  wide,  clean  stair- 
case, where  again  she  was  assailed  by  the  delicious, 
old-fashioned  scent  of  musk. 

Without  ceremony,  Mrs.  Power  opened  the  bedroom 
door  and  walked  in. 

"I  suppose  I  may  wash  my  hands  here?" 

"Of  course,  Mrs.  Power !  Let  me  pour  out  the  water 
for  you."  With  her  all-pervading  sense  of  pleasure 
and  anticipation,  Isabel  hurried  forward  and  filled 
up  the  quaint  basin  with  its  wonderful  design  of  cas- 
tles and  birds  and  trees,  while  Mrs.  Power  laid  down 
the  leaf  of  strawberries  and  began  to  draw  off  her 
rings. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  227 

"Thanks,  dear !  And  I  suppose  you're  delighted  to 
be  in  the  country?" 

"Indeed  I  am.     Indeed,  yes." 

"That's  right !  And  now  tell  me  did  you  see  much 
of  them  at  Skerrybeg  while  I  was  away?" 

"I  saw  Maurice  and  Eddy  and  Walter  on  Saturday, 
Mrs.  Power,  and  I  saw  Josephine  yesterday." 

Mrs.  Power  walked  to  the  washstand  and  buried 
her  hands  in  the  water.  "And  did  you  see  Owen 
at  all?"  she  asked  in  a  tone  that  was  carefully 
diplomatic. 

Isabel  looked  round  quickly,  but  there  was  nothing 
to  be  read  from  the  ample  back  in  its  cashmere  dra- 
peries. "No,  Mrs.  Power,"  she  said  honestly,  "I 
didn't." 

Mrs.  Power  picked  up  the  soap,  and  there  was  the 
swiftness  of  relief  in  the  gesture.  "Didn't  you,  now  ?" 
she  said.  "Didn't  you,  now?  Owen  is  a  funny  boy, 
Isabel.  I  won't  be  sorry  when  he  takes  it  into  his 
head  to  settle  down.  You  know,  I  used  to  have  great 
hopes  once  that  he  and  Mary  Norris  would  take  a 
fancy  to  one  another." 

There  was  a  pause.  "And  why  didn't  they  ?"  Isabel 
said  at  last  with  elaborate  indifference. 

Mrs.  Power  shook  the  water  from  her  hands  and 
took  up  the  towel.  "Well,  Isabel,"  she  said,  still  keep- 
ing her  back  turned,  "between  you  and  me,  I  believe 
they  did.  But  lately  a  little  bird  has  whispered  to  me 
that  somebody  has  come  between  them.  Could  you 
guess  at  all  who  the  somebody  is?" 


228  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

To  her  intense  annoyance,  Isabel  felt  her  face  grow 
red.     "I,  Mrs.  Power?     How  could  I?" 

Then  at  last  Mrs.  Power  turned  round.  "Ah,  now, 
Isabel,"  she  said  with  a  change  of  tone,  "don't  be  pre- 
tending! You  know  very  well  that  you're  a  good 
deal  a  more  attractive  girl  than  Mary,  and  that  any 
man  in  the  world  may  lose  his  head  over  a  pretty 
face !" 

Isabel's  flush  deepened,  deepened  painfully.  With 
the  quickness  of  her  race,  she  saw  Mrs.  Power's  in- 
tentions as  plainly  as  we  see  the  wares  through  the 
glass  of  a  shop-window.  It  was  a  case  of  Frank 
Carey  over  again,  smoothed  this  time  by  kindness  and 
placid  dislike  of  a  scene,  but  fundamentally  the  same. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Power,"  she  cried,  "if  you  think  that  I 
want  to  spoil  Owen's  chances — to  come  between  him 
and  Mary  Norris,  you  make  a  great,  great  mistake !" 

Mrs.  Power  was  alarmed.  "My  dear,  my  dear,  I 
never  said " 

"I  know  you  didn't.  But,  all  the  same,  I  see — I  un- 
derstand. Owen  has  a  future  before  him,  and  Mary 
Norris  has  position  and  a  fortune." 

Horror  and  pain  crossed  Mrs.  Power's  face.  "My 
dear,  my  dear,"  she  cried  in  distress,  "what  are  you 
saying?  You  don't  surely  think  that  I'd  have  Owen 
— or  any  son  of  mine — marry  for  money  or  position 
or  any  such  thing  as  that?  It's  only  that  Mary  is  a 
nice  sensible  girl — and  the  Norrises  are  such  old 
friends, — and  that  Owen  bicycled  out  three  evenings 
since  I've  been  here,  and  so  I  half  thought " 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  229 

Isabel  laughed — laughed  suddenly  and  almost  rudely 
— "Oh,  don't  try  to  explain,  Mrs.  Power!  Please, 
please  don't !    I  understand  so  very  well." 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Power  hung  upon  the  brink  of 
dire  offence;  then  tact,  and  the  consciousness  of  a 
difficult  deed  accomplished,  soothed  her  hurt  pride, 
and  she  came  forward  with  her  motherly  arms  ex- 
tended. 

"Ah,  now,  Isabel,  you're  not  to  take  it  in  bad  part ! 
Don't  see  offence  where  there's  no  offence  meant. 
Girls  are  thoughtless  things,  and  I  just  made  up  my 
mind  this  morning  to  give  you  a  hint  of  how  the  land 
lies.  But  it's  all  over  now,  and  I  must  run  and  take 
my  hat  off." 

With  all  the  old  motherly  warmth  she  kissed  Isabel's 
averted  cheek  and  hurried  from  the  room;  but,  long 
after  the  door  had  closed,  Isabel  stood  where  she  had 
left  her  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  oddly  conscious  that 
something  had  chilled  the  warmth  of  the  day — ^that, 
looking  truly  into  the  heart  of  things,  she  stood  alone 
in  this  circle  of  the  prosperous  and  worldly-wise. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

Bitterness  reigned  in  Isabel's  mind,  rebellion  surged 
in  her  blood,  and  her  cheeks  were  hot  as  she  brushed 
her  thick  black  hair  and  set  her  dress  in  order  for 
the  coming  meal;  and  justification  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  the  rebellion,  making  its  goad  the  keener.  She  was 
one  of  those  whom  Nature  has  moulded  for  life's  easy 
ways.  As  the  child  of  a  rich  man,  her  qualities  would 
have  shone  as  jewels  in  a  fine  setting:  her  exaggerated 
pride  would  have  passed  for  dignity,  her  reckless  in- 
dependence for  strength  of  character,  her  passionate 
impulsiveness  for  feminine  charm,  and,  lapped  in  se- 
curity, hedged  round  by  the  impregnable  barriers  of 
position,  her  nature  would  have  expanded,  softened, 
matured,  until  at  last  she  glided  into  womanhood; 
but  heredity  had  shaped  the  mould,  and  fate  had  dis- 
posed of  the  modelled  clay.  In  the  fairy  tale,  Cin- 
derella has  but  to  await  the  Prince,  but  upon  the 
stage  of  middle-class  Irish  life  the  godmother's  wand 
has  lost  its  cunning,  the  rags  remain  merely  rags,  and 
the  lean  mice  gnaw  the  pumpkin.  To  girls  such  as 
Isabel,  the  future  is  cruelly  stereotyped:  a  year  or 
two  of  social  success,  while  the  face  and  personality 
are  new  to  the  limited  circle,  then  the  slow  decline  of 
that  ardent  popularity,  the  imperceptible  drawing 
out  of  the  years,  until  eighteen  merges  Into  twenty- 
eight,  and  the  girl  wakes  up  with  alarm  to  find  that  a 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  231 

newer  band  of  pleasure-seekers  is  pouring  back  from 
the  convent  schools,  ousting  her  from  her  supremacy. 
And  then?  The  question  is  very  poignant.  In  no 
country  in  the  world  does  the  feminine  mind  shrink 
more  sensitively  from  the  stigma  of  old  maid  than  in 
Ireland,  where  the  woman-worker — the  woman  of 
broad  interests — exists  only  as  a  rare  type.  There  is, 
of  course,  the  convent  always  looming,  a  large  possi- 
bility in  the  Catholic  mind,  and  many  are  the  lives 
that  find  abiding  peace  in  its  placid  grey  monotony: 
but  it  is  not  the  woman  of  Isabel's  stamp  who  girds 
herself  in  the  habit  of  religion ;  neither  is  it  the  woman 
of  this  stamp  who  can  subdue  her  pride  to  the  petty 
difficulties,  the  slow  drudgery,  that  in  Ireland  spells 
self-support.  Such  women  either  marry  or  they  do 
not  marry ;  and  in  that  simple  statement  is  comprised 
the  tragedy  of  existence. 

Some  glimmering  of  this  immense  question  was 
shadowing  her  youth  as  she  twisted  up  her  splendid 
hair,  and  the  sombre  fear  of  it  was  darkening  her 
eyes  as  she  slowly  descended  the  clean,  bare  staircase 
in  answer  to  the  summoning  lunch-bell. 

In  the  hall  Daisy  was  waiting  for  her. 

"Ah,  there  j'ou  are !"  she  began  at  once.  "Come 
into  the  dining-room !  There's  only  Father  James 
and  Mrs.  Power.  Ted  generally  has  his  dinner  at 
our  lunch-time,  but  he  has  a  cold  these  last  few  days 
and  the  doctor  is  keeping  him  in  bed." 

The  dining-room,  like  the  rest  of  the  house,  was  clean 
and  scantily  furnished,  and  to  Isabel's  eyes  it  in- 


232  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

stantly  suggested  the  refectory  of  a  monastery  in 
its  simple  severity.  The  two  other  guests  were  al- 
ready seated  when  she  entered,  and  an  appetising 
smell  was  coming  from  the  uncovered  dishes  of 
chicken  and  ham. 

"Ah,  there  you  are,  Daisy,  dear !"  cried  Mrs.  Power. 
"Come  on  at  once — I'm  simply  starving.  I  tried  to 
tempt  Father  James  to  begin  carving,  but  he  was 
altogether  too  punctilious." 

Daisy  laughed.  "What  nonsense!  He  knows  I 
wouldn't  mind.  Here's  Isabel  Costello,  Father 
James !"  She  led  Isabel  round  the  table  and  then  took 
her  own  place.  "And  now,  who's  going  to  cut  up  the 
things .''"  she  added.     "Mrs.  Power,  will  you?" 

"Ah,  no,  Daisy,  dear !  You  carve  beautifully,"  ob- 
jected Mrs.  Power,  who  was  incorrigibly  lazy. 

"Sure,  I'll  do  the  two,  child !"  said  Father  James. 
"Bring  the  dishes  down  here  to  me,  Julia !  And  how 
are  you.  Miss  Isabel !  'Tis  a  long  time  since  we  met — 
and  then  it  was  only  once, — but  I  have  a  good  re- 
membrance of  you  all  the  same,  and  I  hope  you  haven't 
forgotten  me."  He  took  Isabel's  hand  with  all  the 
kindly  warmth  in  which  his  soul  abounded ;  and  as  ice 
inevitably  thaws  in  strong  sunshine,  the  bitterness  in 
Isabel's  heart  softened. 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled. 

"No,  I  haven't  forgotten  you." 

"That's  right,  child!  That's  right!  We'll  be  great 
friends  yet.  Now,  Daisy,  what'll  you  have  ?  A  bit  of 
the  wing?" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  233 

And  so  on,  consulting  everybody's  taste,  unceasingly 
cheerful  and  kindly,  he  carved  the  chicken,  supple- 
menting each  portion  with  a  piece  of  ham  that  would 
have  fed  a  ploughman. 

"Well,"  said  Daisy,  when  the  meal  was  in  progress, 
"so  you  went  to  read  your  office  before  lunch?  I  saw 
you  starting  off  when  we  were  in  the  garden." 

Father  James  laughed  and  then  shook  his  head  guilt- 
ily. "Peccavi!  Peccavi!"  he  said.  "I  did  start  off 
with  my  breviary  and  the  best  of  intentions ;  but  as 
luck  would  have  it,  I  took  a  look  up  at  the  nursery 
window,  and  I  going  down  the  path " 

Daisy  laughed  as  well.  "Oh,  Father  James,  I 
guess " 

"Indeed,  I  suppose  you  do!  Faith,  they're  great 
young  tempters,  those  sons  of  yours.  Up  I  went,  tell- 
ing myself  'twould  onl}'^  be  for  a  minute ;  but  between 
playing  horses  and  playing  bear,  I  only  got  off  in 
time  to  wash  my  hands !" 

In  this  manner — in  homely  talk  and  homely  laughter 
— the  lunch  drew  to  a  close ;  and  presently  the  chime 
of  the  old  gilt  clock  in  the  drawing-room  floated  across 
the  hall,  announcing  two  o'clock. 

Mrs.  Power  started — if  so  alert  a  word  could  be 
applied  to  her  round  and  comfortable  person.  "Good 
gracious,  Daisy,  is  that  two  o'clock.?  And  I  haven't 
a  bit  of  my  packing  done.  Come  up  with  me,  like  an 
angel,  and  help  me  to  fold  my  things !" 

Daisy  rose.  "And  what'll  you  do.  Father  James? 
Make  another  attempt  at  your  office?" 


284  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Well,  no,"  said  Father  James,  rising  slowly.  "I'll 
read  it  later  on,  when  you're  all  at  tea.  Now  I  think 
I'll  take  Miss  Costello  for  a  walk,  if  she  has  nothing 
better  to  do." 

Whether  he  divined  that  Isabel  might  feel  neglected 
when  the  other  two  retired  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but 
his  eyes  were  even  more  than  usually  kind  as  they 
rested  on  her  face. 

She  sprang  up  in  ready  response.  "Oh,  thanks, 
Father  Baron !    I'd  love  to  go  with  you." 

"That's  right!  That's  right!"  he  said.  "But  re- 
member I'm  Father  James  to  everybody  in  this  house. 
Run  on  now,  like  a  good  child,  and  get  your  hat,  so 
we  won't  be  wasting  any  time.  The  day  is  calling 
out  for  somebody  to  come  and  enjoy  it." 

Again  Isabel  smiled  at  him.  "But  I  don't  want  a 
hat ;  I  love  the  sun  on  my  face." 

"Ah,  that's  right !  I  like  to  hear  you  say  that !  We 
can't  have  too  much  of  anything  the  Almighty  gives 
us.  I  often  go  out  myself,  when  'tis  pouring  rain, 
and  walk  up  my  bit  of  a  mountain  at  Scarragh  till 
I'm  drenched  through  and  through.  Come  on  now, 
and  I'U  show  you  the  path  to  the  wood  that  they  all 
put  so  much  pass  on  1  Grood-bye  for  the  present,  Mrs. 
Power!  I'll  see  you  before  you  start;  and  maybe 
you'd  do  a  little  message  for  me  up  in  town?" 

"Indeed,  I  will.  Father  James!  A  hundred,  if  you 
like.  Come  along,  Daisy!  You  know  how  impatient 
Roger  is,  and  I'm  sure  he  has  the  horse  tackled." 

The  two  women  departed,  and  Isabel  and  Father 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  235 

James  passed  out  into  the  hall  and  through  the  open 
door. 

The  sun  was  brilliant,  though  the  copper  clouds  were 
still  banked  in  the  west,  and  the  fields  of  buttercups 
shimmered  pure  gold.  Isabel  paused  involuntarily  to 
drink  in  the  beauty  of  the  scene. 

"How  splendid  it  is !"  she  said.     "How  free  it  is !" 

A  serious  look  came  over  the  old  priest's  face.  "You 
may  well  say  that,  child !"  he  said.  "  'Tis  what  I  say 
to  myself  every  day  out  on  the  side  of  my  mountain, 
when  I  watch  every  little  plant  filling  its  own  place, 
and  see  every  change  and  season  working  its  own 
end.  Indeed,  I'd  pity  no  man  that  had  eyes  to  see — 
and  the  country  to  live  in." 

He  said  it  so  simply,  with  such  infinite  earnestness, 
that  again  Isabel  felt  her  heart  go  out  to  him  in  sud- 
den sympathy.  In  the  same  manner — by  this  same 
selflessness — he  had  won  his  way  with  many  a  sinner 
in  the  dim  confessional,  hearing  the  old,  human  tale 
of  temptation  and  of  fall  from  lips  that  would  have 
remained  closed  to  pleading  or  to  reason.  The  man 
showed  himself  so  naively,  that  his  very  confidence 
drew  kindred  revelation;  and  in  the  silence  that  fol- 
lowed, while  they  walked  together  over  the  flower- 
covered  grass,  Isabel  felt  for  the  first  time  what  it 
might  be  to  know  the  intimate  love  of  father  and 
mother;  and  something  of  loss — of  dim,  vague  long- 
ing— surged  up  within  her. 

As  though  he  divined  her  thought,  his  next  words 
were  intimate  and  personal. 


236  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

**Well,  child,"  he  said  gently,  as  they  neared  the 
fir  wood  that  bordered  the  fields,  "and  what  sort  of  a 
place  do  you  find  the  world?" 

Isabel  started.  "The  world?"  she  said  quickly.  "I 
— I  don't  quite  know." 

He  smiled,  a  wise,  indulgent  smile.  "You  haven't 
made  up  your  mind  yet?  Well,  you're  young.  You're 
young." 

"How  made  up  my  mind?" 

"Well,  about  your  future — about  what  you'll  be  do- 
ing with  yourself.  You'll  have  to  be  making  up  your 
mind  about  it  some  day,  you  know.  None  of  us  are 
let  off  that  penalty." 

She  glanced  up  quickly,  almost  fearfully.  "My 
future?    How  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  I  mean  that  you'll  have  to  be  choosing  your 
state  in  life.  You'll  have  to  be  getting  married  or 
going  into  a  convent  one  of  these  fine  days — I  won't 
say  the  word  'old  maid.'  " 

Isabel  laughed,  but  her  laugh  was  tremulous.  "I 
could  never  be  a  nun." 

"And  I'm  not  so  sure  that  I'd  be  asking  you,  child. 
'Tis  a  grand  life,  no  doubt — a  grand  calling, — ^but, 
after  all,  a  wife  is  a  grander  calling  still.  Look  at 
Daisy,  now!"  He  paused  to  let  the  words  sink  in, 
and  Isabel  kept  silent,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  fir- 
trees. 

"Look  at  Daisy,  now!"  he  said  again.  "She's  not 
a  clever  girl ;  she's  not  a  remarkable  girl ;  she'd  make 
only  a  very  ordinary  sort  of  a  nun — but  she's  a  good 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  237 

mother  to  those  three  boys  of  hers ;  and  in  time  to 
come  there'll  be  three  men  at  least  that'll  think  her 
the  finest  woman  in  the  world.  Now,  if  that  isn't 
something,  I  don't  know  what  to  say." 

Isabel  flushed.     "I'd  hate  to  be  like  Daisy !" 

The  old  priest  showed  no  perturbation  at  the 
violence  of  the  tone.  "You  needn't  trouble  yourself 
about  that,"  he  said  gently,  "because  you  couldn't  be, 
even  if  you  tried.    We're  all  as  God  made  us." 

"For  one  thing,  I'll  never  marry  a  Waterf ord  man !" 

"And  why  is  that.?" 

"Because  I  know  too  well  what  they're  like." 

"And  what's  that,  child?" 

"Oh,  dull  and  narrow-minded  and  stupid." 

They  were  close  to  the  fir  wood  now,  and  Father 
James  paused  and  looked  at  her  with  new  seriousness. 
"Isabel,  child,"  he  said,  "you  must  never  say  a  thing 
like  that.  There  are  men  as  good  and  as  fine  and  as 
clever,  too,  in  these  towns  of  ours  as  ever  you'd  find 
in  the  big  cities.  Maybe  they  don't  show  up  like 
the  other  people,  but  take  my  word  for  it,  they're 
there.     Look  at  Stephen  Carey,  for  instance !" 

He  may  have  said  it  innocently,  he  may  have  said 
it  with  meaning ;  but  whatever  his  intention,  the  result 
was  instant  and  definite.  The  blood  mounted  to  Isa- 
bel's face,  words  flew  to  her  lips. 

"Oh,  but  Mr.  Carey!  How  can  you  compare  Mr. 
Carey  to  the  others.?  If  he  had  never  settled  down 
in  Ireland — if  only  he  was  in  England  or  America, 
what  a  great  man  he  might  have  been !" 


238  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Surprise  crossed  the  old  priest's  eyes.  He  had 
scarcely  expected  such  an  outburst  as  this;  it  was 
deeper  water  than  he  had  looked  to  plumb.  But  he 
continued  to  walk  on,  encouraging  her  by  his  calm. 

"And  so  you  think  Stephen  might  be  a  great  man?" 

"Indeed,  yes.    Indeed,  I  do." 

*'And  I'm  not  so  sure,  child,  that  I  don't  agree  with 
you.     Stephen  has  the  stuff  in  him." 

Isabel  threw  up  her  head  with  one  of  her  swift  im- 
pulses, and  her  steps  quickened  to  her  quickening 
enthusiasm. 

"Yes ;  he  could  rise  to  anything,  if  he  had  the  chance." 

Father  James  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  with  a  very 
thoughtful  gesture  he  rubbed  his  shaven  chin. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,  child!"  he  said  at  last.  "Maybe 
you're  right !  Most  likely  you're  right !  But  I  have 
queer  notions  myself  about  things  like  that.  I'm  an 
old  man  now,  and  within  measuring  distance  of  the 
grave,  and  do  you  know  what  my  life  has  taught  me?" 

She  glanced  at  him  in  quick  interrogation. 

*'It  has  taught  me  this,  child,  that  it's  a  false  thing 
ever  to  be  saying  that  if  this  man  had  his  chance 
and  if  that  man  had  his  chance,  they'd  have  done  this 
thing  and  done  that  thing,  for  'tis  a  bigger  mind 
than  yours  or  mine  that  put  them  where  they  are — 
and  they're  working  out  bigger  things  than  you  or  I 
could  ever  put  our  tongue  to."  They  had  reached 
the  end  of  the  path,  and  instead  of  climbing  the  stile 
that  led  into  the  wood.  Father  James  seated  himself 
on  the  lowest  step,  and  with  great  deliberation  stooped 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  2S9 

down  and  drew  into  light  a  tiny  fern  growing  in  the 
interstices  of  the  stone. 

"Look  here,  Isabel!"  he  said.  "The  Almighty  set 
this  fern  between  these  stones,  and  if  He  thought 
'twould  thrive  better  between  the  paving-stones  of 
a  street,  do  you  think  He'd  be  waiting  for  you  or  me 
to  tell  Him  He  ought  to  have  put  it  there?" 

Isabel  turned  her  flushed  face  to  the  sun.  "Oh, 
but  that's  exaggerated.  I  don't  think  God  ever  meant 
us  to  be  satisfied  with  things  as  they  are.  If  we  all  sat 
down  and  did  nothing,  how  would  the  world  move  on  ?" 

Again  Father  James  rubbed  his  chin.  Then  he 
smiled,  his  shrewd,  kind,  lenient  smile. 

"Child,"  he  said,  "did  you  ever  hear  of  a  man  called 
JBsop?" 

"I  have  heard  of  ^sop's  Fables,"  she  said,  a  little 
impatiently. 

"Well,  then,  did  you  ever  hear  the  story  about  the 
fly  on  the  wheel?" 

"No,  I  did  not." 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  tell  it  to  you."  And  settling 
himself  in  his  seat,  he  began  the  homely  story  as  he 
might  a  fairy  tale  to  a  little  child. 

"Well,  now,  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  there  was  a 
fly  one  fine  day  long  ago  sat  himself  down  on  the 
axle  of  a  chariot-wheel ;  and  after  a  while  he  took  it 
into  his  head  that  the  chariot  wasn't  going  fast 
enough,  so  what  does  he  do  but  speak  to  the  mule 
that  was  drawing  it.  *How  slow  you  are,  my  fine 
mule!'  says  he.     'Take  care  that  you  won't  find  me 


240  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

giving  you  a  sting  to  hurry  you  on !'  But,  faith,  the 
mule  knew  too  much  for  him !  '  'Tis  very  Kttle  I  care 
for  your  sting,'  says  he ;  'I  only  care  about  him  that 
sits  above  you,  and  that  hurries  me  on  with  the  whip 
or  keeps  me  back  with  the  reins.  So  bother  me  no  more 
for  I  go  fast  or  go  slow  without  your  ordering.'  " 

When  he  had  finished,  Isabel  made  another  move- 
ment of  quick  impatience.  "What  a  silly  story,"  she 
said.     "I  don't  see  the  point  at  all." 

"Don't  you.?" 

"I  don't." 

"Don't  you  see  that  life  is  the  chariot  and  that  we 
are  the  flies — all  of  us,  the  clever  ones  like  Stephen, 
and  the  stupid  ones  like  me — and  that  the  chariot  is 
driven  by  some  great  big  power  that  knows  what  we 
don't  know.  I  agree  with  you,  child,  that  Stephen  is 
a  fine  man,  and  I'm  telling  you  the  plain  truth  when 
I  say  that  I'd  give  my  life's  blood  to  save  him  from 
harm.  But,  by  the  grace  of  God,  he  can  be  as  fine  a 
man  in  Waterford  as  ever  he  could  be  in  London  or 
New  York — and  I'd  be  sorry  to  believe  otherwise." 

A  curious,  defiant  look  passed  over  Isabel's  face. 

"I  don't  think  that.     I'll  never  think  it !" 

Very  slowly  Father  James  got  to  his  feet.  "Very 
well,  child,  have  it  your  own  way !"  he  said.  "But 
life  is  long,  and  we  change  our  opinions  many  a  time 
before  we  travel  the  whole  road.  There's  the  carriage 
coming  round  from  the  yard,  and  we  must  say  good- 
bye to  Mrs.  Power ;  but  take  my  advice  and  don't  for- 
get about  the  fly  on  the  wheel." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

For  the  rest  of  that  day  Father  James  was  a  more 
or  less  silent  observer  of  the  house  and  its  inmates: 
with  his  native  shrewdness  he  watched  Mrs.  Power's 
effusive  farewell  to  Isabel,  and  read  in  her  smiles  and 
nods  and  whisperings  with  Daisy  the  maternal  convic- 
tion that  at  last  the  most  wayward  of  her  flock  was 
to  be  safely  shepherded  into  the  fold  of  respectabil- 
ity ;  then  with  his  well-thumbed  breviary  under  his 
arm,  and  his  shabby  clerical  hat  shading  the  sun  from 
his  eyes,  he  betook  himself  to  the  garden,  and  as  he 
walked  up  and  down  under  the  apple-trees,  muttering 
his  office  with  the  simple  earnestness  he  brought  to 
every  duty,  a  subconscious  portion  of  his  mind  was 
strained  to  catch  the  sound  of  voices  from  the 
drawing-room,  where  Daisy  sat  entertaining  her 
guest. 

He  was  not  an  inquisitive  man,  but  he  admitted  to 
himself  in  the  pauses  of  his  devotions  that  he  would 
have  given  a  good  deal  to  overhear  that  conversation, 
the  gist  and  manner  of  that  entertainment ;  and  when 
across  the  still,  hot  air  of  the  garden  he  caught  the 
rattle  of  an  opening  door  and  the  light  tinkle  of  tea- 
cups, his  interest  sprang  up,  and  he  was  ready  with 
eyes  and  ears  alert  when  Daisy  appeared  with  sus- 
picious alacrity  at  the  French  window. 

"Father  James!"  she  called.     "Father  James,  isn't 


242  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

your  office  finished  yet?  Tea  is  in,  and  you  simply 
must  have  a  cup." 

A  little  smile  crossed  Father  James's  eyes,  but  his 
lips  were  serious  as  he  closed  his  book  obediently, 
blessed  himself,  and  came  slowly  down  the  mossy  path. 

"Faith,  'tis  fashionable  you'll  be  making  me,  with 
your  afternoon  tea,  Daisy !"  he  said  pleasantly,  as 
he  stepped  through  the  long  window.  "When  I  get 
back  to  Scarragh,  I'll  be  ordering  Bridget  to  call  my 
two  o'clock  dinner  lunch,  if  I'm  not  careful.  Isn't 
that  the  way.  Miss  Isabel.?" 

Isabel  was  half -sitting,  half-lying  in  a  wicker-chair 
that  had  been  converted  into  a  piece  of  drawing-room 
furniture  by  the  aid  of  muslin  cushions.  At  the 
priest's  words  she  roused  herself;  and  as  she  turned 
towards  him,  he  was  struck  afresh  by  her  personality 
— ^the  conflicting  tenseness  and  languor  of  her  pose, 
the  smouldering  expectancy  in  her  eyes,  the  curve  and 
colour  of  her  mouth ;  and  with  a  touch  of  instinct  he 
divined  where  her  thoughts  had  been  during  the  dull 
hour  with  Daisy. 

"I  wish  I  could  order  our  servant,  Lizzie,  to  call 
our  dinner  lunch,"  she  said  smilingly.  "I  love  late 
dinner  and  afternoon  tea  and  all  nice  things." 

Daisy's  refinement  was  slightly  outraged  by  this 
bluntness,  and  she  paused  in  her  ministrations  at  the 
tea-table. 

"I  don't  know  how  anybody  can  bother  about  meals," 
she  said.  "I  think  having  to  eat  at  all  is  a  great 
nuisance.     I  could  never  care  about  it  myself." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  243 

*'0h,  I  adore  eating — eating  things  that  are  nice!" 

"Do  you?  Wasn't  it  Lord  Byron  who  could  never 
bear  to  see  a  woman  eat?" 

Isabel  laughed.  "  'Twas  well  he  never  met  me !  Do 
you  think  it  really  matters,  Father  James,  if  nice 
things  make  you  feel  fearfully  greedy — feel  that  you 
must  have  them  ?" 

Father  James  looked  out  of  the  window.  "I  sup- 
pose we  ought  to  curb  our  appetites,  child,"  he  said, 
but  his  tone  was  awkward,  for  preaching  out  of  his 
church  was  a  thing  he  abhorred. 

"Oh,  why?"  Isabel  cried  interestedly.  "Why,  when 
life  is  so  horribly  short?" 

"Don't,  Isabel !"  Daisy  broke  in  nervously.  "I  hate 
to  hear  people  talking  like  that.  I  suppose  we  all 
must  die  some  time,  but  what's  the  good  of  thinking 
of  it.?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  Isabel  threw  herself  back  in 
her  chair  and  turned  her  face  to  the  sun.  "I  don't 
care  what  happens  to  me  when  I'm  old;  I  only  want 
to  live  every  second  of  the  time  while  I  am  young." 

But  Father  James,  who  was  still  standing  by  the 
window,  put  up  his  hand.  "Listen !"  he  said.  "Isn't 
that  Stephen's  motor?" 

"The  motor-car !"  In  a  flash  Isabel's  body  was  gal- 
vanised into  life:  she  sprang  up  and  ran  across  the 
room. 

Daisy  looked  round,  a  little  contemptuous  of  her 
excitement.  "Yes,  that's  the  car,"  she  said  placidly. 
"We're  quite  used  to  it  by  now,  only  I  wish  Stephen 


244  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

wouldn't  sound  the  horn  at  the  gate;  it  wakes  baby, 
and  then  he's  so  hard  to  manage."  She  laid  aside 
the  tea-caddy  and  the  silver  teaspoon  and  slowly  fol- 
lowed Isabel  across  the  room. 

"Won't  you  come  out  and  meet  them.?"  she  added, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  her  guests. 

Father  James  obeyed  the  invitation,  following  her 
into  the  hall ;  but  for  some  unexplained  reason  Isabel 
hung  back  at  the  drawing-room  door,  and  from  her 
solitary  position  listened  with  a  beating  heart  to  the 
stopping  of  the  car  and  the  confused  greetings  of 
Daisy,  Father  James,  Mary,  and  Tom  Norris. 

Meanwhile  the  old  priest,  with  senses  alert,  was  look- 
ing for  one  set  of  circumstances — Carey's  attitude, 
Carey's  first  words.  He  alone  of  the  little  group 
marked  his  expression  as  he  stretched  his  long  limbs 
after  the  tension  of  the  drive ;  he  alone  heard  his  first 
words. 

"Isn't  Miss  Costello  here.?" 

It  had  come  then.  Father  James  told  himself — the 
moment  he  had  waited  for  and  dreaded,  almost  as  a 
mother  dreads  her  son's  first  lapse  from  virtue !  His 
heart  contracted,  then  expanded  again  in  sudden, 
ineffable  love  and  compassion.  Stephen,  the  boy  he 
had  instructed  for  the  sacraments,  the  man  he  had 
married,  never  needed  friendship  as  he  needed  it  now 
in  this  hour  of  coming  storm!  He  went  forward  as 
Carey  entered  the  house,  and  took  his  hand  in  a  warm 
pressure. 

"Well,  boy!"  he  said  affectionately.     "Daisy  and 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  245 

Miss  Costello  and  myself  are  waiting  for  our  tea  till 
you'd  come." 

Carey's  hand  tightened  on  his. 

"So  Miss  Costello  is  here?" 

"Yes ;  in  the  drawing-room  over." 

Father  James  stood  aside  to  let  him  pass,  and  his 
glance  was  keen  as  a  knife  as  he  slowly  followed 
and  saw  the  meeting  of  the  two. 

The  sun  was  enveloping  Isabel  in  a  mantle  of  gold 
as  she  came  forward  to  offer  her  tardy  greeting ;  and 
to  Carey's  eager  gaze,  stray  shafts  of  it  seemed  to 
lurk  in  her  hazel  eyes,  lighting  them  to  strange  new 
fire.  His  nature  leaped  in  consciousness  of  her 
beauty,  as  he  took  her  warm  hand. 

"What  ages  'tis  since  I  have  seen  you!  And  how 
well  you  look !" 

"Ages !"  she  repeated  unthinkingly,  and  let  her 
fingers  lie  in  his,  while  her  lips,  her  eyes,  her  whole 
radiant  face,  gave  unconscious  point  to  the  word. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  !"  he  said.     "Very  glad !" 

Then  their  hands  fell  apart  as  Father  James,  hear- 
ing JNIary's  sharp  voice  in  the  hall,  came  gently  up 
to  them. 

"Well,  Miss  Isabel,  and  what  about  our  tea.?" 

Isabel  laughed — a  low  laugh  of  absolute  delight. 

"Father  James !  Father  James,  you  must  curb  your 
appetite !  Father  James  has  been  lecturing  me  on 
my  greediness."  Her  eyes  again  sought  Carey's,  un- 
able to  repress  the  excitement  welling  in  them. 

"What!     Lecturing  you.''     Why,  that's  trespassing 


246  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

on  my  preserves !  I  don't  allow  any  one  to  lecture 
Miss  Costello  but  myself,  Father  James.  She's  had 
many  a  bad  half -hour  with  me!" 

Isabel  laughed  again.  Life  was  a  glorious  thing! 
A  tempting,  radiant,  dancing  thing,  all  glitter  of 
sun  and  sheen  of  flowers!  What  if  Daisy  were  dull 
and  Mary  bitter,  and  all  the  world  of  women  heartless 
and  scheming!  Carey  had  come — Carey's  eyes  had 
lighted  at  sight  of  her — Carey's  hand  had  held  hers 
in  a  long,  close  pressure! 

She  turned,  her  whole  being  joyous  and  alive,  as 
Tom  Norris  came  into  the  drawing-room,  while  Daisy 
and  Mary  waited  to  whisper  together  in  the  hall. 

Tom's  face  expressed  involuntary  admiration. 
"Hallo,  Miss  Isabel!  There  you  are!  And,  'pon 
my  word,  it  does  me  good  to  look  at  you!  How  on 
earth  do  you  manage  to  keep  that  colour,  when  all 
Waterford  is  as  washed  out  as  a  corpse  from  the  heat 
and  dust.''  'Tis  wonderful!  'Tis  indeed!"  He  took 
her  hand  cordially,  then  turned  to  greet  Father 
James.  "And  is  that  you,  Father  James !  'Tis  a 
cure  for  sore  eyes  to  see  you !  I  thought  you  had  de- 
serted us  altogether.  But,  do  you  know  what !  I  be- 
lieve there's  work  for  you  brewing  outside  there." 
He  nodded  jocosely  over  his  shoulder  to  the  hall,  from 
whence  little  gasps  and  laughs  and  whisperings  came 
in  the  voices  of  the  sisters. 

"What  is  it  you  mean,  Tom.'*" 

Tom  laughed.  "Ah,  don't  be  curious !  You'll  know 
all  in  good  time.    I  have  only  my  suspicions  as  yet." 


THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL  247 

"What's  that,  Tom?"  said  Carey. 

"Have  patience !  Have  patience,  I  tell  you !  All  in 
good  time!  All  in  good  time!"  And  Tom  laughed 
again  in  the  pleased,  mysterious  way  of  one  who  could 
say  much,  did  he  care  to  speak. 

Carey  turned  away  uninterestedly.  "Have  it  your 
own  way !"  he  said.  "Miss  Costello,  how  do  you  like 
my  garden?  Come  and  have  a  look  at  it  now,  with 
the  sun  on  the  apple-trees."  He  walked  to  the  French 
window,  and  Isabel  followed  him  eagerly. 

As  they  disappeared,  Daisy  and  Mary  entered  from 
the  hall.  They  were  both  flushed,  and  Mary  held  her- 
self even  more  independently  than  usual.  Daisy 
looked  round  the  room,  and  seeing  that  only  the  priest 
and  her  brother  were  present,  she  ran  forward  to 
Father  James. 

"Father  James,"  she  cried  breathlessly.  "Father 
James,  do  you  know  what !  I  have  such  a  secret — 
such  news.  Mary  and  Owen  are  engaged!  Oh,  how 
delighted  Mrs.  Power  will  be !" 

Father  James  beamed  all  over  his  kindly  rugged 
face.  Whatever  faults  Mary  Norris  might  have,  she 
was  one  of  his  many  children.  It  was  inevitable  that 
he  should  rejoice  in  her  happiness. 

"Do  you  tell  me  so,  child?"  he  said.  "Do  you  tell 
me  so?  Well,  all  I  can  say  is  Master  Owen  is  get- 
ting a  good  wife !  God  bless  you,  Mary,  child !  God 
bless  you !    Does  Stephen  know,  Daisy  ?" 

Daisy  looked  round,  still  smiling  in  her  pride  and 
gratification.    "Stephen?    No!"    Then  a  look  of  sur- 


248  THE   FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL 

prise  crossed  her  smile.  "But  where  is  Stephen?  I 
thought  he  was  here." 

Father  James  said  nothing ;  but  Tom  answered  read- 
ily and  unsuspiciously. 

"Stephen!  Oh,  Stephen  has  gone  to  show  Isabel 
the  sun  on  his  apple-trees." 

"The  sun  on  the  apple-trees.?"  repeated  Daisy, 
laughing.  "How  ridiculous !  What  it  is  to  have  a 
hobby !" 

"What  it  is  to  have  an  imagination !"  said  Mary 

with  a  dry  little  laugh. 

»  «  «  «  ♦ 

Dinner  that  night  was  quite  a  gay  affair.  The  an- 
nouncement of  Mary's  engagement  gave  an  excuse 
for  festivity,  and  Daisy  felt  pleased  and  flattered  that 
even  Stephen — the  self-contained,  sarcastic  Stephen 
— should  give  himself  up  to  the  moment.  Talk  never 
flagged  from  the  soup  to  the  dessert,  when  Mary's 
health  was  drunk  in  port  specially  decanted  for  the 
occasion.  There  was  something  peculiar,  something 
electric  in  the  atmosphere.  Mary  was  keenly  con- 
scious of  it ;  Tom  and  Daisy  felt  it  vaguely ;  Stephen 
and  Isabel,  sitting  side  by  side,  secretly  burned  to 
the  knowledge  of  it ;  while  Father  James,  unusually 
silent  in  the  midst  of  the  festivity,  saw  and  under- 
stood it  with  a  curious  sinking  of  the  heart. 

At  last  the  meal  was  over ;  and,  contrary  to  his 
usual  habit,  Stephen  followed  the  party  into  the  hall. 

"This  is  an  occasion,  Daisy,"  he  said.  "I  think  I 
ought  to  go  into  the  drawing-room  with  you." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  249 

Daisy  looked  gratified.    "Do !    Oh,  do !"  she  said. 

Mary  turned  and  shot  a  quick  glance  at  them,  but 
she  said  nothing.  To-morrow  she  would  be  her  old 
self  again,  speeding  her  barbed  shafts,  dealing  her 
swift  thrusts,  but  to-night — this  night  of  unalloyed 
triumph — she  had  no  time  to  waste  upon  Stephen. 
So  without  comment  she  suffered  the  party  to  cross 
the  hall. 

In  the  drawing-room  they  formed  into  a  group. 

"And  now,  what'll  we  do.'"'  questioned  Daisy,  hos- 
pitably concerned  for  the  amusement  of  her  guests. 
"What  about  bridge?     You  play,  Isabel.?" 

Isabel  drew  back  diffidently.  "Oh,  please  no!  I'm 
no  good  at  cards." 

"Well,  you  will,  Polly !  And  Tom— that's  two !  And 
Stephen  and  Father  James — that's  a  four!" 

A  quick  look  of  annoyance,  followed  by  a  quick  look 
of  determination,  passed  over  Carey's  face.  "Don't 
mind  me,  Daisy !  I  won't  play.  You  take  my 
place." 

"Oh,  but  why?    You  always  play." 

"I  am  tired  to-night." 

Daisy  looked  incredulous,  for  Stephen's  very  atti- 
tude belied  the  idea  of  weariness. 

"You're  giving  it  up  because  you  think  I  want  to 
play.     Please  don't,  Stephen." 

"No,  I'm  not.  Don't  make  a  fuss  about  it."  Carey 
turned  away,  selfish  as  every  man  and  woman  are 
selfish  when  mind  and  body  are  centred  upon  one  ob- 
ject, to  the  exclusion  of  all  others. 


250  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Daisy  laughed  her  silly,  light  little  laugh.  "Oh, 
very  well !    Have  it  your  own  way !" 

But  Father  James  stepped  forward,  breaking  the 
silence  he  had  hitherto  preserved.  "Stephen,"  he  said, 
*'listen  here!  We'll  have  a  game  of  forty -five,  and 
not  mind  the  bridge  to-night;  then  we  can  all  be 
playing.     Do,  for  the  sake  of  old  times!" 

Distinctly,  unmistakably,  Carey  hesitated ;  then  some 
thought  of  his  own  or  something  in  the  old  priest's 
face  made  his  decision  for  him. 

*'A11  right!     Very  well!"  he  said  brusquely. 

And  until  the  clock  chimed  twelve,  and  exhaustion 
was  written  on  more  than  one  face,  Father  James  kept 
the  game  alive,  stifling  his  own  yawns,  spurring  the 
lagging  players,  clinging  to  his  position  as  a  soldier 
defends  his  flag. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

That  night  the  threatened  rain  came,  breaking  in  a 
torrent — a  deluge — such  as  Irish  skies  can  so  readily 
produce.  All  through  the  night  it  poured  upon  the 
roof,  relentless,  unsparing;  and  in  the  morning  Isa- 
bel, looking  from  her  window,  saw  a  garden  green 
with  moisture,  paths  that  were  no  longer  paths  but 
streams,  and  a  sky  that  hung  grey  and  low  over  the 
earth,  seeming  to  pour  forth  its  very  heart  in  a  flood 
of  tears. 

At  breakfast  the  one  topic  of  conversation  was  the 
weather — its  effect  upon  the  crops,  its  probable  con- 
tinuance, its  possible  abatement ;  for  now  that  the 
longed-for  change  had  come,  everybody  was  clamour- 
ing for  the  dry  warmth  of  the  past  weeks.  At  half- 
past  nine  Carey's  motor-car  came  round  to  the  door; 
and  in  a  swish  and  swirl  of  mud,  Isabel  saw  him  drive 
away  with  Tom  Norris,  while  her  heart  beat  to  his 
last  smile  and  to  his  last  words,  called  back  through 
the  storm  of  rain — "I'll  be  back  as  early  as  I  can. 
Mind  you  wait  tea  for  me !" 

Then  there  had  begun  for  her  that  thing  of  weari- 
ness— a  hopelessly  wet  day  in  somebody  else's  country 
house.  After  breakfast,  Daisy  had  departed  to  the 
kitchen  to  consult  with  the  cook;  Mary,  with  an  air 
of  importance,  had  announced  that  she  had  letters  to 
write ;  while  Father  James,  taxing  his  imagination  to 


252  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

the  uttermost,  had  volunteered  to  teach  her  bezique. 
Bezique,  therefore,  they  had  played  until  lunch-time, 
when  they  had  both  laid  down  the  cards  with  secret 
relief.  At  lunch  the  spirits  of  the  whole  party  ob- 
viously flagged,  and  subjects  of  interest  ran  low,  the 
talk  for  the  most  part  dwelling  upon  Ted's  cold  and 
the  fact  that  the  doctor  had  prescribed  another  day 
in  bed.  After  the  meal,  Daisy's  duties  being  done 
and  Mary's  letters  written,  the  three  girls  were  con- 
strained to  leave  Father  James  to  his  office  and  retire 
to  the  drawing-room,  to  wear  away  the  afternoon  as 
best  they  could,  until  five  o'clock  brought  tea  and  the 
return  of  the  men. 

In  the  drawing-room  all  the  windows  were  shut  to 
keep  out  the  rain,  and  a  smell  of  must  seemed  to  em- 
anate from  the  furniture,  drawn  forth  by  the  close 
dampness  of  the  air.  The  whole  room  wore  a  melan- 
choly suggestion  of  autumn,  impossible  to  reconcile 
with  yesterday's  summer  sunshine ;  and  as  they  entered 
it,  Isabel  looked  longingly  towards  the  empty 
grate. 

Daisy  followed  the  glance.  "We  almost  might  have 
afire!" 

But  Mary  looked  stem  and  instant  disapproval.  "A 
fire?  Nonsense!  We'd  be  suffocated.  I  wish  I  had 
stopped  in  town  last  night.  The  country  is  sicken- 
ing on  a  wet  day  !" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know !  If  we  hadn't  a  wet  day  now  and 
then  I'd  never  get  my  mending  done.  I  may  as  well 
go  and  get  my  work-basket  now !" 


THE   FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  253 

Daisy  departed,  virtuously  and  unimaginatively 
content;  and  Isabel  dropped  into  the  long  wicker- 
chair  with  an  air  of  lazy  indolence.  Whether  this 
action  had  in  its  essence  something  irritating  to  Mary, 
or  whether  the  wet,  disappointing  day  had  worked 
upon  her  nerves,  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  she  walked 
to  the  piano  with  an  obvious  air  of  annoyance  and 
picked  up  her  Tolstoi,  lying  where  she  had  left  it  the 
day  before.  She  opened  the  book,  glanced  at  the 
pages,  then  threw  it  aside  and  seated  herself  on  the 
edge  of  the  piano  stool. 

For  a  minute  or  two  she  played  disconnectedly,  then 
she  shot  a  swift  glance  at  Isabel  from  under  her  eye- 
lashes. 

"By  the  way,  Isabel,  why  is  it  you  haven't  congrat- 
ulated me.''    Everybody  else  has." 

Isabel  turned,  her  colour  slightly  heightened.  "Oh, 
I  don't  know !  I  thought  'twas  the  man  that  was  al- 
ways congratulated." 

Mary  reddened  in  her  own  turn,  and  played  a  chord 
or  two.  "I  never  knew  you  were  an  authority  on 
etiquette !" 

"I'm  not.     I  only  thought " 

"What.?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know !"  With  a  sense  of  being  baited, 
Isabel  turned  away  and  looked  through  the  glass 
door  at  the  dripping  garden. 

At  the  action  Mary  let  her  hands  drop  from  the 
keys,  and  wheeled  round  on  the  piano  stool. 

"Isabel,"  she  said  suddenly,  "I'd  like  very  much  to 


254  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

know  what  you  really  think  about  Owen  and  me  be- 
ing engaged." 

With  the  instinct  of  facing  an  antagonist,  Isabel 
withdrew  her  ej^es  from  the  garden  and  met  Mary's 
interrogative  glance. 

"I  don't  think  at  all,"  she  said.  "Why  should  I 
think.?" 

"Because  you're  not  quite  an  imbecile.  You  must 
think  something." 

"Well,  and  if  I  do.?" 

*'Then  why  won't  you  tell  me  what  it  is?" 

Isabel's  temper,  always  quick,  rose  hotly  at  the  per- 
sistence. 

"Perhaps  if  I  did  tell  you,  it  mightn't  please  you." 

*'Then  it's  something  nasty.?" 

"Perhaps." 

This  time  it  was  Mary's  temper  that  was  stung.  She 
shut  the  piano  sharply,  and  walked  across  the  room 
to  Isabel's  chair. 

"Look  here,  Isabel,"  she  said,  "I've  had  enough  of 
this.    Kindly  explain  exactly  what  you  mean!" 

Isabel  looked  up  at  her,  and  all  the  old  dishke  was 
patent  in  the  glance  that  they  exchanged.  "Very 
well!"  she  said  recklessly.  "I'll  tell  you  if  you  like. 
It's  just  this.  I  didn't  congratulate  you,  because 
I  don't  think  you  are  to  be  congratulated.  I  don't 
envy  any  one  who  is  going  to  marry  Owen  Power." 

Whatever  Mary  had  expected,  she  had  not  expected 
this ;  and  in  her  amazed  anger,  she  stammered 

"I'd — I'd  like  to  know  exactly  what  that  means." 

"Nothing.     Just  what  I  say." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  255 

She  laughed  loudly  and  sarcastically. 

"Not  a  very  convincing  statement,  Fm  afraid! 
Have  you  nothing  to  add  to  it?" 

"Nothing." 

For  a  moment  they  continued  to  look  at  each  other, 
and  in  Mary's  hard  glance  and  tightened  lips  there 
was  all  the  prejudice,  the  impregnable  bigotry  that 
in  time  to  come  would  hedge  round  her  husband  and 
her  children. 

"Then  Fm  afraid  it  doesn't  injure  Owen  very 
much,"  she  said;  "and  if  you  take  my  advice,  Isabel, 
you'll  be  careful  for  your  own  sake  how  you  air  your 
sentiments.  It  wouldn't  be  wise  to  make  an  enemy 
of  him,  after  that  night  in  the  Lover's  Walk !"  She 
laughed  again,  her  spiteful,  cutting  laugh;  and  be- 
fore Isabel  could  retaliate — ^before  she  could  extricate 
the  barbed  shaft  lying  in  the  words — ^turned  on  her 
heel  and  marched  out  of  the  room  with  stiff  shoulders 
and  head  held  virtuously  high. 

All  through  the  succeeding  period  of  solitude  and 
the  subsequent  hour  of  Daisy's  chatter,  Isabel  puzzled 
over  the  thrust,  trying  vainly  to  find  its  meaning, 
striving  to  understand  whether  it  veiled  a  threat ;  then 
tea  and  the  arrival  of  Carey  and  Tom  Norris  ban- 
ished it  from  her  mind,  and  when  she  retired  to  her 
room  to  dress  for  dinner  her  interest,  her  excitement, 
and  her  sense  of  indefinite  anticipation  were  surging 
through  her  again,  hot  and  exhilarating  as  before. 

Carey  was  alone  in  the  drawing-room  when  she  came 


256  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

downstairs,  but  at  their  first  words  Father  James  ap- 
peared, his  breviary  under  his  arm. 

"Well !  well !  well !"  he  said  cheerfully.  "And  do  you 
know  that  the  rain  is  nearly  stopped.'"' 

"Nearly  stopped,  is  it.?'*  said  Carey,  not  very  in- 
terestedly. 

"Nearly  stopped,  indeed !  Praise  be  to  God !  Maybe 
we'll  have  a  fine  day  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  goodness,  I  hope  so!"  said  Isabel  fervently. 
*'To-day  was  terrible." 

Carey  looked  at  her  and  smiled.    "Was  it  very  dull.'"' 

She  shook  her  head,  but  her  eyes  sparkled.  "I  sup- 
pose 'twas  better  than  being  out  in  the  wet." 

"Better!  Good  Lord,  no!  The  rain  was  splendid; 
the  rain  was  magnificent.  There's  a  feeling  about 
scudding  along  in  the  car  over  wet  roads  that  has  no 
equal.  Any  fool  can  go  out  in  fine  weather.  I  wish 
I  could  show  you  what  I  mean!"  His  eyes  turned 
involuntarily  towards  the  windows,  beyond  which  the 
grey  sky  was  showing  rifts  of  watery  light. 

As  he  looked,  Tom  Norris  strolled  in  from  the  hall. 
"It's  going  to  clear  up,  after  all!"  he  announced. 
"Where  are  the  girls  ?  It's  ten  past  seven."  He  com- 
pared his  watch  with  the  gilt  clock  on  the  mantel- 
piece. 

At  that  moment  Daisy  hurried  in,  full  of  apologies. 
"I'm  awfully  sorry  to  be  late!  Let's  go  to  dinner 
now ;  Polly  will  be  in  in  a  minute." 

"In?    Is  she  out.?"  asked  Tom. 

"Yes.     She  said  she  should  get  a  breath  of  air,  if 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  257 

she  was  to  catch  her  death  from  it.  She  was  awfully 
cross  after  lunch,  and  dashed  off  without  a  word  to 
anybody.  I  don't  know  what  was  the  matter  with 
her." 

Tom  laughed  and  whistled.  "I  tell  you  what,"  he 
said,  "Master  Owen  will  have  to  mind  his  P's  and 
Q's  with  Mary.  But  come  along  in — I  have  a  rag- 
ing appetite." 

They  all  filed  into  the  dining-room,  and  were  barely 
seated  at  table  when  the  banging  of  the  hall  door 
announced  the  return  of  the  truant. 

Without  ceremony  Mary  walked  in.  Her  hat  and 
her  fair  hair  were  both  plentifully  sprinkled  with 
rain,  and  her  short  skirt  was  splashed  with  mud ;  but 
her  cheeks  were  red  from  exercise,  and  there  was  de- 
cision and  energy  in  the  carriage  of  her  head. 

Tom  glanced  up  from  his  plate  with  a  quizzical 
glance.  "Hallo,  Polly !"  he  said.  "I  never  thought 
'twould  take  you  like  that.  'Pon  my  word,  I 
didn't!" 

Mary  took  off  her  hat  and  threw  it  on  a  chair ;  then 
she  seated  herself  next  to  Father  James,  and  began 
to  rub  her  hands,  which  were  wet  and  red  from  ex- 
posure to  the  weather. 

"Didn't  you?"  she  said  coolly.  "Fm  glad  Fm  inter- 
esting for  once." 

Tom  pretended  not  to  hear.  "Just  imagine  a  sensi- 
ble girl  like  you  driven  to  meandering  by  yourself  on 
a  wet  evening !  God  help  us  !  Love  must  be  a  terri- 
ble disease!" 


258  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"  'Tis  well,  then,  you  were  inoculated  so  young ! 
Stephen,  can  I  have  some  soup?" 

In  banter  and  chaff  between  brother  and  sister,  the 
dinner  wore  on  until  dessert  was  laid  upon  the  table ; 
then  Tom,  losing  interest  in  the  game,  turned  his  at- 
tention to  the  rest  of  the  company. 

"You're  very  quiet  this  evening.  Father  James,"  he 
said.    "What's  the  matter  with  you.*"' 

Father  James,  who  had  been  listening  to  a  low 
murmur  of  conversation  carried  on  by  Carey 
and  Isabel  under  cover  of  Tom's  noisy  jesting, 
started  almost  guiltily.  "Nothing  is  the  matter," 
he  said.  "I  suppose  I'm  a  bit  dull  from  being  in  all 
day." 

"Dull  ?  Lord,  no  wonder !  I  felt  like  a  stewed  rab- 
bit up  in  town." 

"Why  don't  you  all  go  out,  then?"  said  Mary. 
"  'Tisn't  at  all  a  bad  night  now." 

As  she  spoke,  she  pushed  away  her  plate,  rose,  and 
sauntered  to  the  window. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  another  turn  myself,  if  any  one 
else  is  on  for  it.    Will  you  come,  Daisy?" 

Daisy  rose.  "I  can't,  Polly.  I  must  go  and  tuck 
Ted  in.  He'll  cry  if  I  don't.  Perhaps  Isabel  will 
go." 

Mary  received  the  suggestion  in  cold  silence ;  Isabel 
reddened  at  the  obvious  shght,  and  Carey  stood  up 
with  some  precipitation. 

"Is  there  any  note-paper  in  the  desk,  Daisy?"  he 
asked.     "I  want  to  write  a  letter." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  259 

"Yes,  there  is,  Stephen.  I  was  writing  there  be- 
fore dinner." 

It  was  Father  James  who  answered ;  and,  as  if  fear- 
ing his  statement  might  be  doubted,  he  went  across 
to  the  desk  and  drew  forth  note-paper  and  envelopes. 

At  this  point  Mary  turned  away  from  the  window 
and  took  up  her  hat. 

"Well,  who's  coming?" 

Father  James  took  an  undecided  look  at  Carey ;  but, 
as  he  saw  him  seat  himself  at  the  desk  with  business- 
like decision,  his  expression  relaxed. 

"I'm  on  for  a  turn,  Mary,"  he  said.  "If  you'll  wait 
while  I  get  my  hat." 

"All  right.  Father  James!    Tom,  what  about  you.?" 

Tom  looked  after  Isabel,  who  was  walking  out  of  the 
room  in  Daisy's  wake. 

Mary  stamped  her  foot.  "Come  on,  for  goodness' 
sake !  Don't  be  always  hanging  between  two  fires.  I 
had  a  letter  to-day  from  Aileen  Burke,  and  there's  a 
message  in  it  for  you." 

Mary  knew  her  brother.  There  was  no  more  hesita- 
tion; and  when  Father  James  appeared  at  the  door- 
way with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  the  three  adventurers 
sallied  forth  into  the  hall. 

Carey,  sitting  at  the  desk,  heard  the  sound  of  their 
feet  on  the  bare  boards,  heard  their  talk  and  laughter, 
then  heard  the  shutting  of  the  hall  door. 

Nothing  in  the  world  could  have  seemed  to  him  so 
significant,  so  portentous,  as  that  shutting  of  the 
door.     By  its  heavy  sound,  convention, — family  in- 


260  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

fluence, — even  friendship  seemed  to  be  shut  away, 
leaving  him  alone  with  the  subtle,  secret  things  that 
lodge  in  a  man's  soul.  The  silence  that  succeeded  was 
intense;  he  found  himself  listening,  the  pen  upraised 
in  his  hand,  the  sheet  of  paper  before  him  still  clean. 

But  nothing  came — not  a  breath,  not  a  rustle.  He 
dipped  his  pen  into  the  ink ;  he  wrote  the  date  at  the 
top  of  his  letter;  then  suddenly,  with  an  overmaster- 
ing, irresistible  impulse,  he  pushed  the  writing  mate- 
rials from  him,  stood  up,  and  crossing  the  hall,  walked 
into  the  drawing-room. 

In  the  drawing-room  the  curtains  had  been  drawn; 
on  the  centre  table  stood  a  lamp  with  a  yellow  shade, 
and  seated  within  the  circle  of  its  light — her  elbows 
on  the  table,  her  head  supported  by  her  hands — sat 
Isabel,  with  Mary's  Tolstoi  open  before  her. 

At  Carey's  entrance  she  started  and  jumped  to  her 
feet,  causing  the  book  to  fall  to  the  ground. 

"Goodness!  How  you  frightened  me!"  she  said,  a 
dry,  nervous  catch  clipping  her  words. 

For  answer,  Carey  came  forward,  picked  up  the 
book,  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"Why  aren't  you  with  the  others .?"  he  asked.  "Why 
are  you  here  by  yourself.?" 

She  laughed,  still  nervous,  still  over-strung.  "Oh, 
they  didn't  want  me;  Mary  Norris  didn't  want  me. 
Couldn't  you  see?" 

The  words  were  poured  forth  quickly,  but  it  was  the 
quickness  of  irrelevance.  Each  knew  by  intuition 
that  question  and  answer  were  mere  conventionalities, 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  261 

cloaking  the  thoughts  that  were  racing  through  their 
minds. 

For  a  moment  Carey  stood  silent  and  undecided; 
then  he  walked  to  the  window  and  drew  back  the  cur- 
tain. 

"It's  quite  fine,"  he  said,  looking  out.  "There's  even 
a  moon  trying  to  come  out.    Look !" 

Isabel  was  standing  by  the  table,  the  book  in  her 
hand,  the  yellow  lamplight  falling  on  her  dress. 

"Look  !     Come  here !" 

With  her  pulses  throbbing  and  with  a  strange  sensa- 
tion in  her  throat,  she  came  towards  him  across  the 
silent  room. 

"Look!"  he  said  again.     "The  rain  is  over." 

"Yes."  The  word  was  spoken  automatically.  She 
was  conscious  of  nothing  but  his  near  presence,  their 
intimate  companionship  in  the  dim  window. 

"Look  here,"  Carey  said  suddenly  in  a  tense,  abrupt 
tone.  "Let  me  take  you  out !  Come  with  me  in  the 
car  for  half  an  hour !" 

She  turned  to  him,  her  eyes  alight  and  incredulous. 

"In  the  car?" 

"Why  not?  Where's  the  objection?  If  people  can 
go  for  a  walk,  why  not  for  a  drive?"  The  faint  op- 
position lent  heat  to  his  desire. 

"But  could  we?" 

He  caught  the  note  of  yielding  in  her  voice;  he 
seized  upon  it  greedily. 

"Of  course.  Come  on!  Any  minute  they  may  be 
back."     The  fever  in  his  thoughts  ran  through  his 


262  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

voice,  and  its  tone  dominated  her.  Across  the  room 
the  quiet  lamp  was  making  a  pool  of  light ;  but  out- 
side, in  the  struggling  dimness  of  moon  and  cloud, 
there  was  a  sense  of  elemental  things.  She  looked 
through  the  window  and  her  senses  seemed  to  waver, 
swimming  out  upon  the  darkness. 
"Very  well!"  she  said  below  her  breath.  "Very 
weU!" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

*'We'll  go  by  the  garden." 

Carey's  voice  was  low,  betraying  the  nervous  tense- 
ness of  the  man  ridden  by  his  desires  and  devoured  by 
the  fear  that  they  may  be  thwarted.  Walking  across 
the  room,  he  caught  the  handle  of  the  glass  door,  and 
Isabel  heard  him  swear  below  his  breath  as  the  rusty 
lock  creaked  and  groaned  under  his  pressure. 

At  last  it  swung  open,  and  the  clear  air,  drenched 
into  added  freshness,  blew  in  across  the  room,  making 
the  lamp  flame  quiver. 

"What  about  coats.'"'  she  whispered.  "We  can't  go 
like  this." 

Carey  paused  in  the  act  of  stepping  into  the  garden, 
and  laughed  with  sudden  embarrassment.  "Of 
course !"  he  said  awkwardly.  "I  was  forgetting 
coats." 

With  instinctive  caution,  like  people  who  are  subcon- 
sciously sensitive  of  a  guilty  act,  they  stepped  quickly 
and  silently  back  across  the  room  and  out  into  the 
hall. 

"There's  nothing  of  mine  here,"  Isabel  said  in  the 
same  lowered  voice,  as  they  stopped  before  the  laden 
hat-stand. 

"Never  mind !  Take  anything.  What  about  this .?" 
He  unhooked  a  long  tweed  ulster  and  held  it  up. 

"That's  Mary's." 


264  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Then  put  it  on — and  let  Mary  be  useful  for  once 
in  her  life!" 

They  both  laughed  inaudibly,  as  he  held  the  coat 
out  for  her  and  she  slipped  her  arms  into  the  sleeves. 

"Now,  a  hat!  Can  you  manage  this?"  He  took 
down  a  tweed  shooting-hat. 

She  looked  at  it  doubtfully.  "  'Twill  be  fearfully 
big." 

"All  the  better !    'Twill  stick  on !" 

She  laughed  again  softly  and  excitedly,  as  she  put 
on  the  hat  and  drew  it  down  over  her  ears. 

"What  on  earth  do  I  look  like?" 

He  paused  in  the  act  of  putting  on  his  own  coat, 
and  looked  down  at  the  face  raised  to  his. 

"Irresistible!"  he  said  curtly,  and  turning  on  his 
heel  he  led  the  way  back  across  the  drawing-room  and 
through  the  open  glass  door. 

As  she  followed  him  into  the  garden,  he  paused  to 
close  it. 

"We  can  come  back  by  the  hall  door,"  he  explained. 
"Now,  right  across  the  strawberry-beds  to  the  little 
gate  in  the  wall !  Give  me  your  hand.  'Twould  be  a 
nasty  place  to  stumble." 

Unresistingly  she  let  him  lead  her  through  the  dark- 
ness, the  heavy  wet  rhubarb  leaves  flapping  against 
her  skirts,  the  ghostly  apple-trees  drooping  dark  and 
rain-laden  above  her  head.  It  was  only  when  they  had 
passed  through  the  garden  door  and  emerged  into  the 
big,  paved  farmyard  that  he  released  her  hand. 

*'Now  we're  safe!"  he  said. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  265 

Very  carefully  he  struck  a  match,  guarding  it  from 
the  damp  air ;  and  having  taken  his  bearings,  walked 
across  to  the  great  gate  of  the  coach-house  and  lifted 
the  iron  bar  from  its  socket.  He  swore  again,  as  the 
bar  reluctantly  yielded ;  then  he  stepped  back,  and  the 
heavy  doors  swung  outward. 

In  the  shadows  of  the  whitewashed  house,  the  car 
loomed  dark  and  impressive.  He  stepped  up  to  it, 
striking  another  match. 

"Mike  hasn't  put  a  sponge  to  her  yet.  The  idle 
ruffian!    You  won't  mind.?" 

"No.    Of  course  not !" 

"Right !     Then  in  you  get !" 

Burning  with  excitement,  living  as  she  had  never 
lived  before  save  in  her  dreams,  Isabel  stepped  into 
the  car,  buttoning  up  her  coat  and  pulling  her  hat 
well  down  over  her  hair. 

In  another  moment  the  lamps  were  lighted,  the  en- 
gines set  in  motion,  and  the  car  was  a  restive  animal, 
trembling,  quivering  to  be  off.  Carey  mounted  to  his 
place,  and  with  a  silence  and  precision  that  seemed  to 
Isabel  magical,  they  glided  out  into  the  yard  and 
down  the  long,  wet  avenue. 

She  drew  a  sharp  breath,  and  leant  back  in  her  seat, 
clasping  her  hands  upon  her  knees,  as  her  eyes  took 
in  the  fleeting  vision  of  the  house  with  its  lighted  win- 
dows, and  her  face  was  assailed  by  the  cool,  delicious 
sweep  of  damp  night  air.  It  was  the  same  attitude 
that  she  had  assumed  on  the  day,  weeks  ago,  that  she 
had  first  occupied  this  place  at  Carey's  side, — ^the 


266  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

same  position,  the  same  circumstance, — yet  what 
leagues  had  been  covered  in  the  field  of  emotion  since 
that  first  drive! 

The  five-barred  gate  at  the  end  of  the  avenue  was 
open,  and  without  pause  he  guided  the  car  out  into 
the  boreen  with  the  high  white  hedges,  where  the 
luxurious  scent  of  the  hawthorn  was  lying  heavy  on 
the  air.  The  remembrance  of  her  drive  in  Mrs. 
Power's  carriage  flashed  back  upon  Isabel  with  the 
warm,  enveloping  perfume,  as  they  splashed  down  the 
lane  and  over  the  small  stone  bridge. 

Emerging  upon  the  high-road,  a  choice  of  ways  be- 
came inevitable,  and  she  felt  her  heart  bound  with 
new  excitement  as  Carey  discarded  the  direction  of 
Waterford,  and,  turning  the  car  to  the  right,  headed 
for  the  open  country. 

On  any  night  the  adventure  would  have  been  breath- 
less ;  but  to-night  the  elements  conspired  with  fate 
in  the  making  of  an  effect.  As  they  passed  into  the 
wide  roadway,  the  whole  panorama  of  the  sky  opened 
before  them, — the  great  ragged  space  of  the  heavens 
rent  by  the  moon's  knife;  the  clouds,  massed  in  grey 
banks  to  the  likeness  of  towers,  ramparts,  castles ;  the 
moon  herself,  alternately  revealed  and  hidden,  as  the 
rolling  veil  of  mist  was  blown  over  her  pale  face.  It 
was  a  wonderful  sky  picture,  pregnant  with  mystery, 
suggestion,  peril;  but  Isabel,  looking  up  from  her 
own  wild  thoughts,  found  no  fear,  no  menace,  in  its 
wide,  wind-swept  surface. 

Like  a  great  beast,  the  car  sped  onward  over  the 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  267 

wet  and  shining  roadway,  past  thick  hedges,  trees  in 
full  leaf,  vast  corn-fields  that  in  the  ghostly  light 
looked  like  grey,  encroaching  seas.  No  word  was- 
spoken  as  they  fled  on,  gaining  speed  with  the  flying' 
moments.  It  was  a  mad  drive — mad  as  the  thoughts 
that  were  racing  through  their  minds.  Death  would 
have  come  to  either  of  them  then  without  a  tremor  ^ 
for  in  every  life  there  is  at  least  one  such  hour  as 
this — when  physical  danger  and  moral  danger  are 
alike  meaningless,  when  the  soul  lifts  to  the  immensity 
of  conscious  power,  defying  fate. 

Onward,  onward  into  the  night  they  ploughed,  the 
mysterious  country  flying  by  them,  the  water  hissing 
from  the  swirling  wheels.  Here  and  there  a  gate- 
post flashed  by,  vividly  white;  here  and  there  a  cot- 
tage shot  into  the  darkness,  the  coppery-pink  of  its^ 
windows  forming  the  high  lights  in  a  picture  where 
dense  black  tree-trunks  were  the  shadows.  Each 
landmark  on  the  road  fled  past,  barely  waking  recog- 
nition in  Carey's  mind.  The  Police  Barrack  with  itsf 
sharp  white  outline;  the  railway  cutting,  where  the 
car  seemed  to  leap  as  it  shot  across  the  rails;  the 
forked  roads,  conjuring  the  gallows  of  old  times  or 
the  staked  body  of  the  suicide ;  the  scattered  lights  of 
Kilmacthomas,  where  the  road  for  the  first  time  faces 
the  mountains  that  lie  behind  Dungarvan  ! 

Like  a  fiend  unloosed,  the  car  thundered  on — on  to- 
wards the  mountains  and  the  sea.  For  the  first  time 
since  they  had  left  Kilmeaden,  Isabel  turned  and 
looked  at  Carey,  seated  tense  and  rigid  at  the  wheel. 


268  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"How  far  have  we  come?" 

"Fifteen  miles."  The  words  seemed  phantom  things, 
caught  and  tossed  to  her  by  the  wind. 

"How  far  are  we  going?" 

Either  he  could  not  or  he  would  not  hear;  for  he 
urged  the  car  forward,  taking  no  notice  of  the  ques- 
tion. 

Up  hill  they  sped,  down  hill,  then  once  more  up  hill 
to  the  handful  of  houses,  scarcely  worth  the  name  of 
village,  that  crowns  the  summit  of  the  land;  then 
once  again  the  road  dropped  steeply — down,  down, 
past  the  sparse  trees,  past  the  barren  fields  that  whis- 
per of  the  coast,  until  at  last,  with  what  seemed  like 
a  great  convulsion,  the  car  groaned  to  the  sharply 
applied  brake,  quivering  through  all  its  powerful 
frame  like  a  living  thing,  and  stopped  to  its  master's 
bidding. 

Isabel  caught  her  breath,  sharply,  audibly ;  Carey 
leant  back  in  his  seat,  inactive  for  a  moment  after  the 
immense  strain  of  the  drive.  At  last  he  turned  and 
looked  at  her. 

"Was  there  ever  a  drive  like  that?" 

His  voice  was  low  and  unlike  itself;  and  Isabel  sat 
silent. 

"That  was  living,  wasn't  it?" 

She  whispered  something,  but  neither  of  them  heard 
any  word. 

Then  he  stood  up,  a  powerful,  sombre  figure  in  the 
deserted  silence  of  the  night. 

"Let  us  get  out !     Do  you  know  that  that's  Dun- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  269 

garvan  just  below  us — ^that  Helvic  Head  and  Ard- 
more  are  round  to  the  right?  We're  almost  in 
County  Cork." 

He  spoke  rapidly,  uncertainly,  and  stepping  to  the 
ground,  he  leant  against  the  car,  as  if  still  exhausted 
from  his  tremendous  achievement. 

"Come!"  he  said  at  last,  turning  to  her  suddenly. 

Obediently  she  rose,  and  for  a  moment  paused  on 
the  step  of  the  car,  looking  down  at  him. 

That  moment  was  supreme;  their  eyes,  meeting  in 
the  gloom,  spoke  secret  things  ;  their  souls  found  each 
other  in  the  profound  solitude.  In  perfect  silence 
Carey  put  out  his  arms  and  lifted  her  from  her  place. 

He  lifted  her  down,  but  his  arms  did  not  relax  as 
her  feet  touched  the  ground. 

Thrilled  and  quivering,  she  stood  motionless  in  his 
embrace,  conscious  of  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  in- 
timately conscious  of  the  hard  throbbing  of  his  heart 
— that  sensation  which  every  woman  experiences  for 
the  first  time  with  wonder  and  with  fear. 

"You  know,  don't  you,  why  I  brought  you  here?" 

Her  lips  parted,  but  again  no  word  came.  She  was 
aware  in  every  fibre  of  his  intensity,  of  his  passion, 
of  the  reality  that  was  sweeping  through  their  lives. 

"I  wanted  you  away  from  Kilmeaden — ^I  wanted  you 
all  to  mj'self.  Do  you  understand?  All  to  myself. 
I've  been  mad  for  you  for  weeks — for  weeks.  Ever 
since  I  first  saw  you  I've  wanted  this.  There's  no 
use  denying  it,  there's  no  use  fighting  it.  Every  man 
has  his  day.     Why  shouldn't  I  have  mine?" 


270  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

She  struggled  a  little  in  his  clasp. 

"Look  at  me !"  he  said.  "Look  at  me !  I've  pictured 
this  a  hundred  times — a  thousand  times ;  and  a  thou- 
sand times  I've  trampled  it  down.  But  it's  no  good ! 
It's  no  good !  You're  always  before  me — your  eyes — 
your  hair — your  mouth."  He  bent  suddenly  and 
kissed  her — kissed  her  violently. 

"Do  you  care  for  me?     Tell  me!     Do  you.'"' 

She  struggled  again ;  then  his  passion  kindled  a  Arc 
in  her;  she  threw  back  her  head  with  a  free  gesture, 
and  her  eyes  blazed  as  they  met  his. 

"Yes,  I  care.     I've  always  cared." 

For  acknowledgment  he  released  her  suddenly,  and 
taking  her  face  between  his  hands,  turned  it  up  to  the 
wan  light. 

"Is  that  the  truth.?     The  honest  truth.?" 

Her  glance  answered  his,  burningly,  seriously. 
**Yes;  the  honest  truth." 

His  hands  dropped  with  a  gesture  of  finality. 
*'Then,  by  God,  I'd  go  down  to  hell  for  you!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

Neaely  an  hour  after  the  car  had  sped  silently  down 
the  Kilmeaden  avenue,  Daisy — placid,  unthinking, 
wholly  unsuspicious  of  the  mine  beneath  her  feet — 
came  slowly  down  from  the  nursery,  carrying  her 
work-basket  and  a  handful  of  socks. 

The  drawing-room,  with  its  shaded  lamp,  its  bowls 
of  flowers,  its  quiet  atmosphere,  wore  an  air  of  in- 
nocence, as  though  no  breath  of  passion  had  swept 
across  it ;  but  if  the  walls  and  furniture  gave  no  hint 
of  drama,  human  emotion  was  not  unrepresented,  for 
Mary  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  all  the  rigidity 
of  determination  in  her  small  figure,  all  the  sugges- 
tion of  controlled  excitement  in  the  pose  of  her  head, 

"So  you're  back!"  Daisy  said  without  looking  at  her, 
as  she  stepped  calmly  to  the  table  and  seated  herself 
in  the  light  of  the  lamp.  "What  did  you  do  with 
Tom  and  Father  James.?" 

"They're  in  the  dining-room,  playing  chess." 

Mary's  tone  was  sharp,  acutely  sharp,  but  Daisy 
was  unobservant. 

"Oh !"  was  all  she  said ;  then  she  added  indifferently, 
*'And  where's  Isabel.'"' 

Mary  made  a  little  sound  of  sarcastic  contempt. 

"Isabel !     Don't  ask  me !" 

Then  at  last  Daisy's  attention  was  caught.  "What's 
the  matter,  Polly?"  she  said,  looking  up. 


272  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"I  suppose  you  didn't  hear  anything,  while  you  were 
up  with  Ted?" 

"Hear  anything?     No.     What  would  I  hear?" 

"I  thought  you  might  have  heard  the  car  coming 
out  of  the  yard  about  an  hour  ago." 

"The  car?     At  this  hour  of  the  night?     The  car?" 

"Yes.  The  car !  The  car !"  said  Mary,  mimicking 
her.     "Oh,  Daisy,  you  make  me  sick!" 

In  blank  surprise,  Daisy  dropped  the  sock  that  she 
was  holding. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you?  What  on 
earth  do  you  mean.'*" 

Mary  turned  upon  her.  "I  mean,  Daisy,  that  you're 
such  a  fool  that  a  person  can  hardly  even  feel  sorry 
for  you!" 

The  attack  was  so  sweeping  and  so  unexpected  that 
Daisy  sat  and  stared. 

Then  it  was  that  Mary,  stung  to  definite  action, 
boiling  with  accumulated  knowledge,  dealt  her  swift- 
est, best-aimed  blow. 

"Stephen  has  taken  out  the  car — and  taken  Isabel 
in  it !" 

"Stephen!    But,  why?    Where?" 

"Ah,  that's  left  to  the  imagination!  But,  then,  of 
course,  you  have  none!" 

"Mary,  what  are  you  talking  about?  What  do  you 
mean?"  For  the  first  time  a  note  of  uneasiness 
sounded  in  Daisy's  voice ;  her  fingers  unconsciously 
fumbled  with  her  work-basket. 

For  answer,  Mary  walked  over  to  the  table  and  stood 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  273 

looking  down  at  her.  "Daisy,"  she  said  with  delib^ 
eration,  "do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  really  are 
as  great  a  fool  as  you  appear?  That  all  these  weeks 
you  have  never  seen  what  I  saw  and  what  everybody 
in  Waterford  saw — that  Stephen  is  head  over  ears  in 
love  with  Isabel  Costello?'* 

Like  a  child  who  has  been  dealt  a  slap  across  the 
face,  Daisy  jumped  up,  letting  her  work-basket  fall 
to  the  ground  in  a  confusion  of  needles  and  threads. 
"Mary !    Mary,  you're  mad !" 
"Mad?     Oh,  I'm  not  the  one  that's  mad  I" 
"But,  Stephen !     But— but  he's  married !" 
Daisy's  mind,  trained  in  a  circumscribed  space,  fed 
upon  chosen  food,  refused  the  problem  as  something 
irreconcilable. 

Mary,  overmastered  by  impatience,  threw  out  her 
arms  in  a  gesture  of  exasperation.  "Married,  in- 
deed! Good  heavens,  when  will  you  learn  sense?  I 
tell  you  any  hving  soul  but  yourself  would  have  seen 
it  weeks  ago.  I  saw  it  at  the  Fair  Hill  dance,  the 
very  first  time  he  danced  with  her.  'Tis  true,  indeed, 
that  there  are  no  people  so  blind  as  those  who  won't 
see!" 

"But,  Mary,  how  could  it  be?  How  could  it?" 
There  was  panic  in  Daisy's  voice  now,  mingling  with 
the  incredulity. 

Again  Mary  threw  up  her  hands.  "Oh,  you  exas- 
perate me!  You  make  me  furious,  when  I  see  you 
going  on  day  after  day,  eating  and  sleeping  and  smil- 
ing as  if  nothing  was  wrong !    And  all  the  time  those 


•^74  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

two  are  laughing  up  their  sleeves,  to  think  what  a 
fool  you  are !" 

A  crimson  wave  flooded  Daisy's  face.  "Polly !  Polly ! 
Oh,  Polly,  don't !"  she  cried ;  and  her  voice  ran  up  the 
whole  scale  of  emotions  until  it  ended  in  a  cry  of 
pain. 

At  the  sound  Mary's  manner  softened.  "I  don't 
mean  to  be  nasty,"  she  said,  "but  you  make  me  wild. 
It's  too  much  of  a  good  thing  when  a  married  man 
goes  out  driving  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  with  an  un- 
married girl!" 

With  a  distracted  gesture  Daisy  pushed  the  fair  hair 
from  her  forehead. 

"But,  Polly,"  she  cried,  "it's  impossible!  It's  im- 
possible !    It's  out  of  the  question !" 

"Out  of  the  question,  no  doubt !  But,  all  the  same, 
Stephen — ^the  immaculate  Stephen — is  careering 
about  the  roads  at  the  present  moment  with  the  pret- 
tiest girl  he's  ever  met  in  his  life.  For  she  is  that, 
whatever  you  or  I  may  say!" 

This  touched  Daisy  to  something  nearer  and  more 
vital  than  fear:  as  far  as  the  great  passion  could 
have  being  in  her  nature,  jealousy  flared  up. 

*'Do  you  mean  that  he  admires  her — ^that  he  notices 
her.?" 

•"Indeed  I  do." 

"There  was  no  ignoring  the  conviction  in  Mary's 
'tone,  and  before  it  the  poor  flimsy  rags  of  Daisy's 
.self-possession  were  scattered. 

**How  dare  you  say  that,  Mary !"  she  cried.     "How 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  275 

dare  you  think  such  a  thing!  Stephen  has  always 
been  a  good  husband — always,  always  from  the  very 
first.  What  do  you  know  about  it?  You  read  those 
horrible  foreign  novels,  and  you  think  things  happen 
here  like  they  do  abroad.  But  I  tell  you  they  don't. 
It's  different— it's  different !" 

"Men  are  never  different." 

Again  the  conviction  in  the  tone  swept  Daisy's  mind 
like  a  cold  wind. 

*'What  do  you  mean.'"' 

"What  I  say.  That  you  are  a  fool  and  that  Stephen 
is — a  man." 

The  pause  that  foUowed  was  long  and  deadly :  when 
Daisy  spoke  again  it  was  in  a  thin,  faint  voice. 

"What  makes  you  say  that.''  Is  it  only  because 
Stephen  has  taken  her  out  to-night?" 

"No;  it  isn't." 

"Then  what?" 

"Things  that  people  have  told  me." 

"What  people?" 

"One  person — Owen    ..." 

"Owen?" 

*'Yes,  Owen.  Owen  has  summed  her  up  pretty  ac- 
curately, I  can  tell  yoxi !  Oh,  he  was  quite  honest 
about  it;  he  admitted  that  just  at  first  he  was  taken 
with  her,  like  the  rest  of  the  men,  but  he  had  enough 
of  her  that  night  at  Fair  Hill.  You  remember  my 
telling  you  at  the  time  that  there  was  something  be- 
hind that  story  of  the  cigarette?" 

"Yes."     Daisy's  voice  was  dry. 


276  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Well,  the  something  behind  it  was — Stephen !" 

There  was  the  weight  of  a  definite  fact  in  this  last 
pronouncement, — to  Daisy's  narrow  conceptions, 
something  final  and  abyssmal. 

"And  where  are  they  now?"  she  cried,  her  sudden 
distraction  linking  the  past  with  the  present.  "How 
long  are  they  gone  ?  Polly,  what  hour  was  it  ?  What 
hour  was  it  when  they  went?" 

"  'Twas  nine,"  said  Mary,  knowing  the  value  of  a 
brief  statement. 

Daisy's  glance  sought  the  clock.  "And  now  it's 
after  ten ;  it's  nearly  half -past  ten.  Mary,  what 
could  they  be  doing  for  an  hour  and  a  half?" 

Mary  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  a  world  of  sug- 
gestion ;  then  her  eyes  met  her  sister's.  "I'll  tell  you 
what  you  can  be  doing — if  you  have  an  ounce  of 
spirit,  an  ounce  of  sense." 

"What?" 

**Be  thinking  out  what  you'll  say  to  Stephen  when 
he  does  come  back." 

With  a  frightened  gesture  Daisy  put  out  her 
hand. 

"Polly!  Polly!  I  couldn't  meet  them— I  couldn't 
meet  her!" 

"Don't  be  afraid!  She  won't  be  anxious  to  meet 
you.  But  you  must  see  Stephen.  Everything  de- 
pends on  your  seeing  him  to-night;  everything  de- 
pends on  what  you  say  to-night.  You're  his  wife. 
You  must  assert  yourself." 

"Polly!" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  277 

"I  mean  what  I  say.  You're  his  wife;  make  him 
know  it." 

"Polly!  Polly,  you're  not  going?"  She  sprang 
up,  as  Mary  walked  towards  the  door. 

"Yes,  I  am.    It's  between  you  two." 

"But,  Polly !"  Her  tone  was  piteous,  her  face  white. 
"Polly,  I  can't— I  can't.     Fm  afraid." 

Mary  paused  with  her  hand  on  the  door.  "But  you 
must!  No  one  can  help  you  to-night.  It's  between 
you  and  him.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  remember  one 
thing — that  you're  his  wife." 

With  quiet  decision  she  walked  out  of  the  room,  and 
Daisy  sank  back  into  her  chair. 

The  half  hour  that  followed  was  the  worst  that  had 
come  to  her  in  all  her  narrow,  sheltered  life.  Pain, 
jealousy,  acute  nervous  anticipation  warred  in  her 
brain  like  a  peal  of  discordant  bells.  Hot  rage 
scorched  her,  as  the  hands  of  the  old  gilt  clock  crept 
on,  marking  the  minutes ;  cold  dread  chilled  her  bod- 
ily, as  her  imagination  strove  to  conjure  her  interview 
with  Stephen.  A  dozen  times  she  started  up,  imag- 
ining the  sound  of  the  car ;  and  at  the  realisation  of 
each  mistake,  she  sank  back  again,  physically  sick 
and  faint.  When  at  last  the  real  sound  came — no 
m3rth  of  the  brain,  but  the  whirr  and  grind  of  tyres 
on  the  wet  gravel — her  whole  life  seemed  to  ebb  away, 
leaving  her  utterly  cold,  utterly  impotent. 

Holding  to  the  back  of  a  chair,  she  stood  listening 
with  morbid  intentness.  Mary  had  closed  the  draw- 
ing-room door,  but  in  the  silence  of  the  night  each 


278  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

sound  of  the  return  came  to  her  distinctly — the  throb 
of  the  engines,  the  crunch  of  the  brake,  the  succeed- 
ing silence  that  told  of  the  entry  into  the  house ;  she 
heard  the  feet  on  the  uncarpeted  hall,  she  heard  the 
hat-stand  sway  as  fresh  wraps  were  added  to  its  load ; 
then  she  heard  Isabel's  voice,  sounding  astonishingly 
full  and  vital. 

"Good-night  P*  it  said.  "I  suppose  they're  gone  to 
bed — if  they're  not  playing  cards." 

Then  Carey's  voice,  very  low  in  tone.  "Good-night! 
Sleep  well  .f" 

Then  a  silence,  a  silence  in  which  her  strained  imag- 
ination suddenly  took  fire,  burning  up  her  impotence. 

In  that  second  of  intense  jealousy  she  could  almost 
have  gone  forward,  have  opened  the  door  and  con- 
fronted them;  but  conventionality  checked  her.  She 
waited  until  Isabel's  light  step  passed  down  the  hall, 
and  Carey  walked  back  to  the  car;  then  she  ran 
across  the  room,  pulled  back  the  curtain,  and  pushed 
up  the  sash  of  the  window. 

"Stephen!"  she  called.     "Stephen!" 

To  her  own  ears  her  voice  was  harsh  and  dry ;  but 
to  Stephen,  stepping  into  the  car,  it  was  merely  ar- 
resting. 

"Who's  that?"  he  called.     "Is  that  you,  Daisy?" 

"Yes,  it  is.  I'm  here,  in  the  drawing-room.  I  want 
to  speak  to  you." 

Carey  had  set  the  engines  in  motion  again ;  he  raised 
his  head,  trying  to  catch  the  words  above  their  drum- 
ming. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  279 

"What  is  it?"  he  called  again.    "Do  you  want  me?" 

"Yes,  I  do.     I  want  you  now." 

This  time  the  voice  was  sharp  and  penetrating :  with- 
out further  hesitation  he  stepped  to  the  ground  and 
passed  back  across  the  hall  and  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

Daisy,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  agi- 
tation and  nervous  strain  written  in  every  line  of  her 
figure,  fastened  her  gaze  upon  him — seeing  with  an 
observation  born  of  the  moment  that  he  was  paler 
than  she  had  ever  known  him,  that  his  face  looked 
strained,  his  eyes  very  dark. 

Had  his  instincts  been  less  keen  than  they  were  to- 
night, he  must  have  noticed  the  intentness  of  her  re- 
gard; but  with  senses  sharpened  to  a  point,  he  saw 
in  a  flash  all  that  her  glance  portended,  all  that  it 
inevitably  presaged. 

"Well?"  he  said  very  quietly;  and  Daisy,  with  her 
eyes  still  upon  his  face,  repeated  the  word. 

"Well?" 

Then,  manlike,  he  sought  for  the  worst  at  once. 

"Well?"  he  said.  "What  is  it?  Why  are  you  look- 
ing at  me  like  that?" 

"As  if  you  didn't  know!"  she  cried  out  suddenly. 
"What  a  fool  you  must  think  I  am — never  to  know, 
never  to  see  what  all  Waterf ord  sees  and  knows !" 

He  drew  back  a  step,  steadying  his  nerves. 

"And  may  I  ask  what  it  is  that  all  Waterf  ord  sees 
and  knows?" 

"Why,  that  you're  forgetting  me — that  you're  for- 


280  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

getting  that  you're  a  married  man — that  this  Cos- 
tello  girl " 

"Stop !"  said  Carey,  so  violently  that  her  voice  failed 
and  died  away.  "I  know  where  you  got  this  idea 
from.  I  know  the  reliable  source  from  which  it 
comes." 

Daisy  swayed  a  little.  "Stephen!  Stephen,  does 
she  matter  as  much  as  that?" 

Carey  checked  his  vehemence.  "I  cannot  have  a 
girl  slandered." 

"Then  she's  more  to  you  than  me?  You  put  her 
before  me?" 

Again  his  feelings  surged  within  him,  driving  the 
blood  to  his  face. 

"Have  you  ever  had  to  complain  of  that?"  he  de- 
manded. "Have  I  ever  failed  in  the  bargain  of  our 
marriage?  Oh,  I've  held  to  it  well!  You've  had 
nothing  to  complain  of!" 

"But  now  it's  different!  Stephen,  it's  true  what  I 
said?  Isn't  it?  Isn't  it?  She  matters  to  you  now; 
you  put  her  before  me  now?" 

Carey  stood  silent. 

"Stephen !  Stephen !"  Her  voice  rose,  straining  his 
tautened  nerves. 

"For  God's  sake,  let  me  alone!"  he  cried  suddenly. 
"Haven't  I  done  all  a  man  could  do?  Haven't  I  made 
you  a  position,  and  earned  you  money,  and  given  you 
a  house?  What  more  does  a  woman  ask  from  her 
husband !" 

"Stephen!"  she  cried  again. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  281 

In  her  distress  it  seemed  that  she  could  only  artic- 
ulate his  name;  and  with  each  repetition  came  the 
added  pain  of  a  soul  struggling  into  existence.  Poor, 
trivial  Daisy,  who  had  sipped  so  fastidiously  at  the 
cup  of  life,  was  tasting  its  dregs  in  those  bitter  mo- 
ments. "Oh,  Stephen!"  she  cried  wildly.  "Tell  me 
it's  not  true!  Tell  me  it's  all  a  lie,  and  I'll  believe 
you !"     She  ran  forward  and  caught  his  arm. 

But  the  cry  fell  on  deaf  ears ;  Carey's  nerves  were 
strained  to  snapping-point.  At  the  touch  of  her  hand 
all  the  selfish  manhood  in  him  revolted  against  her. 

"Let  me  alone!"  he  exclaimed.  "Haven't  I  given 
enough?  Haven't  you  drained  me  dry — ^you  Nor- 
rises  .f"' 

It  was  the  first  brutal  word  he  had  ever  spoken  to 
her,  and  she  bent  under  it.  With  a  piteous  little 
gesture,  she  threw  out  her  hands  and  burst  into  tears. 

It  was  the  last  straw — this  sound  of  woman's 
weeping.  He  turned  upon  her  savagely.  *'Be 
quiet!"  he  said.  "Don't  bring  the  house  about  our 
ears !" 

She  sobbed  on,  immersed  in  her  misery. 

"Daisy !    Be  quiet !    I  tell  you  I  can't  bear  this !" 

A  louder,  longer,  more  despairing  sob  was  all  that 
answered  him. 

"Very  well,  then!"  With  the  quick,  nervous  step 
of  a  man  resolved,  he  walked  to  the  door. 

As  she  heard  the  handle  turn  she  looked  round,  her 
fair  hair  dishevelled,  her  face  flooded  with  tears. 

"Stephen!    Stephen,  where  are  you  going.?" 


282  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Carey  never  paused,  never  looked  back.  "I'm  go- 
ing up  to  town.     I'm  going  to  Lady  Lane." 

The  words  paralysed  her.  Never  in  the  five  years  of 
their  married  life  had  he  slept  out  of  his  own  house — 
never  had  he  spoken  in  this  voice  of  cold  dislike.  A 
great  terror  surged  over  her,  and  the  little  card-house 
of  her  contentment  swayed  as  in  a  tornado. 

"Stephen!"  she  cried.  "Stephen,  don't  leave  me! 
Don't  go !    Stephen !" 

But  the  cry  was  lost  in  the  swish  and  splash  of  the 
car,  as  it  fled  past  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A  STiFLiNGLY  hot  moming ;  a  house  imbued  with  the 
sense  of  desertion  and  the  close,  pervading  breath  of 
city  air,  uncleansed  by  even  a  day's  rain !  Such  was 
the  atmosphere  in  which  Carey  was  to  enact  the  most 
fruitful  scenes  of  the  drama  he  called  his  life! 

At  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  following  his  night 
of  stress  and  passion,  he  descended  from  his  bedroom 
at  Lady  Lane  and  walked  into  the  breakfast-room. 
It  was  characteristic,  this  breakfast-room — charac- 
teristic of  Ireland — characteristic  of  Irish  family 
life.  Here  all  the  books  of  the  house  were  collected 
in  a  tall,  glass-fronted  bookcase ;  here  stood  the  ink- 
stained  table  at  which  Ted  did  his  lessons  each  day 
when  his  father  had  gone  to  work;  here  were  ranged 
the  two  immense  globes  from  which  Daisy,  Mary,  and 
Tom  Norris  had  made  acquaintance  with  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  in  their  youthful  days,  and  which  were 
now  a  source  of  instruction  and  amazement  to  Daisy's 
children;  here,  also,  stood  the  old-fashioned  work- 
table  that  had  belonged  to  Daisy's  mother,  and  the 
big  iron  safe  in  which  Stephen  kept  the  documents 
that  he  brought  home  with  him  from  the  office.  It 
was  a  common  room;  but  to  those  who  knew  it,  it 
held  that  homeliness  that  lies  in  common  things. 
Many  a  wet  day  Daisy  had  found  quiet  enjoyment 
in  that  familiar  atmosphere  over  a  book  or  a  cup  of 


284  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

tea ;  and  many  a  winter  night  Stephen  had  returned, 
tired  and  cold,  to  find  cahn  solace  in  a  pipe  over  the 
fire.  But  the  time  for  solace,  like  the  season  of  fires, 
was  past  by  many  months^  As  he  walked  into  the 
room  on  this  sultry  summer  morning,  the  cold  grate 
stared  at  him  in  all  its  blank  ugliness,  and  a  coating 
of  dust  lay  thick  upon  the  work-table  and  the  globes. 

Involuntarily  a  murmur  of  disgust  escaped  him,  and 
walking  across  the  room,  he  threw  open  the  window ; 
but  even  here  the  air  was  hot  and  festering,  for  yes- 
terday's rain  had  not  been  sufficient  to  scour  the 
streets  after  three  dry  weeks,  and  the  odours  that 
assailed  him  were  unsavoury.  Another  expression  of 
impatience  dropped  from  him,  and  he  turned  back 
into  the  room  at  the  moment  that  the  door  behind  him 
opened  and  Mrs.  Brien,  the  charwoman,  appeared. 

Mrs.  Brien  was  a  woman  of  sixty, — inquisitive,  talk- 
ative, lazy,  but,  as  Mrs.  Power  would  have  said,  "a 
decent  creature."  She  came  into  the  room  now,  and 
stood  looking  at  Carey,  whose  office  she  washed  but 
once  a-week,  and  in  whom  she  took  a  proprietary 
interest. 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  minute  or  two  in  silence; 
then,  as  he  made  no  attempt  to  speak,  she  broached 
the  subject  that  had  brought  her  from  the  lower  re- 
gions. 

"And,  what  about  me  wettin'  you  a  sup  a  tay,  sir.?" 
she  began.  "Shure,  you  must  be  perished  alive  for 
the  want  of  a  bit  to  ate !" 

Carey  looked  at  her,  then  looked  back  again  at  the 


THE   FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  285 

window.     "Thank  you,  Mrs.  Brien,"  he  said,  "but  I 
don't  want  anything.     I'm  not  hungry." 

Seen  in  the  full  light  of  morning,  his  face  seemed 
to  Mrs.  Brien  to  be  strangely  unlike  itself ;  it  was  set 
and  pale,  and  his  eyes  had  the  hollow  look  of  a  man 
who  has  not  slept. 

"An',  shure,  isn't  that  a  foolish  thing,  nowl"  she 
was  constrained  to  say.  "The  Lord  knows  you  must 
be  wantin'  somethin' — wid  nayther  bit  nor  sup  passin' 
your  lips  these  twelve  hours.  What  harm  if  you  had 
a  dhrop  of  whiskey  itself  last  night,  afther  the  long 
dhrive  you  had !" 

Here  Carey's  patience  suddenly  gave  way.  "Oh, 
for  goodness'  sake  go  away  and  don't  bother  me!" 
he  cried.  "I  thought  you  were  supposed  to  keep  this 
place  clean.'"'  He  passed  his  hand  over  the  work- 
table  and  showed  it  to  her,  black  with  dirt. 

She  looked  at  it  without  confusion.     "Well  now,  if 
that  isn't  a  quare  thing !"  she  said  with  interest.  "An' 
meself  afther  scrubbin'  this  room  as  clane  as  a  bar- 
rack-yard yesterday  mornin' !    But,  shure,  'tisn't  dirt , 
it  is  at  all,  'tis  on'y  dust." 

Carey  shook  his  head  hopelessly.  "Oh,  go  away!" 
he  said  again.  "K  you  have  no  work  to  attend  to, 
I  have." 

Her  face  expressed  dismay-  "Work !  An'  is  it  go 
down  to  the  office  you  will,  without  a  bit  to  ate.'"' 

"I'm  not  going  to  the  office;  I've  just  telephoned 
to  say  so.     I  have  work  to  do  here." 

"Well,  of  course  you  knows  your  own  business ;  an' 


286  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

'tisn't  for  the  likes  of  a  poor  woman  like  me  to  be 
dhrillin'  you  about  what  you  ought  to  be  doin' " 

Carey  took  out  his  handkerchief,  wiped  his  fingers 
violently,  and  crossing  to  the  safe,  opened  it  with  an 
ostentatious  clatter  of  keys. 

"Are  you  going — or  will  I  have  to  put  you  out?" 

"I'm  goin',  sir — ^I'm  goin'."  She  sidled  slowly  to 
the  door,  but  on  the  threshold  paused  and  looked 
back.  "I'll  come  in  agin,  to  see  will  you  be  havin' 
that  sup  a  tay !" 

He  groaned,  then  made  a  wide  gesture  of  relief  as 
he  saw  her  go,  and  heard  her  feet — in  a  pair  of  his 
cast-off  boots — flapping  away  into  the  distance. 

With  her  departure,  a  change  seemed  to  pass  over 
him ;  the  mask  of  caution  dropped  from  his  face,  dis- 
playing a  light  of  sudden,  feverish  energy.  Restrain- 
ing himself  to  methodical  action  with  evident  diffi- 
culty, he  threw  open  the  heavy  door  of  the  safe  and 
lifted  out  the  bundles  of  family  documents,  which  it 
was  his  habit  to  keep  under  his  personal  supervision. 
They  were  not  a  very  imposing  array,  but  such  as 
they  were,  they  represented  the  march  of  the  Carey 
family,  from  the  day  when  Bamy  Carey,  in  the  first 
pride  of  affluence,  had  seen  fit  to  make  a  will.  Tak- 
ing them  carefully  in  both  his  hands,  he  blew  the  dust 
from  the  pink  tape  that  held  them  together,  and  car- 
ried them  across  the  room  to  the  ink-stained  writing- 
table.  There,  he  drew  up  a  chair  and,  seating  him- 
self, began  a  careful  perusal  of  the  papers,  taking 
them  in  order,  one  by  one.     The  task  was  absorbing. 


THE   FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  287 

and  he  buried  himself  in  it,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  out- 
ward sights  and  sounds.  Now  and  then,  as  he  read, 
his  latent  excitement  seemed  to  break  bounds,  and  he 
would  pass  his  hand  nervously  across  his  forehead, 
pull  his  chair  nearer  to  the  table,  or,  seizing  a  pen, 
would  dip  it  in  the  ink  and  make  rapid  notes  from 
the  documents  before  him. 

His  task  was  at  its  height,  his  nervous  attention 
fixed,  when  the  hall-door  bell  pealed  with  a  sudden 
clanging  vigour  that  echoed  through  the  quiet  house. 
At  the  sound  he  gave  a  start,  and  made  a  large  blot 
on  the  paper  before  him ;  then  he  smiled  grimly  at  his 
jarred  nerves,  and  settled  to  his  work  again,  as  he 
heard  Mrs.  Brien  flap  down  the  hall.  Some  milkman 
or  baker,  he  told  himself!  Even  charwomen  had  to 
live!  And  the  more  surely  to  avoid  disturbance,  he 
planted  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  put  his  hands  over 
his  ears. 

In  this  new  attitude  he  heard  nothing  of  the  col- 
loquy at  the  door  nor  of  the  passage  of  steps  that 
followed  it;  he  heard  nothing  of  the  opening  of  the 
breakfast-room  door  under  Mrs.  Brien's  tentative 
hand,  or  the  apologetic  scraping  of  her  feet  on  the 
threshold.  But  another  and  subsequent  sound  he  did 
hear — the  familiar  tones  of  Father  James's  voice 
sounding  suddenly  close  behind  him ;  and,  hearing  it, 
his  hands  dropped  from  his  ears,  and  he  wheeled  round 
so  sharply  that  Mrs.  Brien  jumped  back  in  alarm. 

"Oh,  sir,"  she  cried,  "I  hope  I  done  no  harm.  But 
how  could  I  refuse  his  rivirence !" 


288  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Father  James  put  up  his  hand.  "That's  all  right, 
my  good  woman !  Sure,  what  harm  would  it  be !  Go 
on  now  back  to  your  work." 

Not  daring  to  oppose  the  priest,  Mrs.  Brien  reluc- 
tantly withdrew,  and  Father  James  was  left  to  con- 
template Carey's  angry  face — his  sharp,  interroga- 
tive glance — ^the  hand  that  had  shot  out  instinctively 
to  cover  the  papers  spread  upon  the  table.  He  looked 
at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then  his  soul's  absorb- 
ing thought  broke  from  him  in  one  word. 

"Stephen !  Stephen !  Stephen !"  he  said ;  and  never 
were  love  and  rdauke  and  pity  so  blended  in  a  human 
voice. 

Carey  made  no  response.  By  set  and  dehberate  pur- 
pose he  began  to  collect  his  papers  into  a  heap. 

Father  James  followed  the  movement ;  then  he  shook 
his  head  sadly.  *'You're  gone  a  long  way  away  from 
me,  Stephen,  when  you  think  Fd  be  spying  on  you  !'* 

Carey  flushed,  and  with  a  sudden  gesture  flung  the 
papers  back  upon  the  table.  '*You  can  see  them  if 
you  like !"  he  cried.  "And  if  you  have  come  here  to- 
day to  preach  to  me,  Father  James,  I'd  have  you  to 
remember  that  I'm  thirty-eight  years  old,  and  that 
I've  heard  a  sermon  nearly  every  Sunday  of  my  life !" 

He  pushed  back  his  chair,  rose  abruptly,  and  walked 
across  the  room  to  the  cheerless  grate.  It  had  been 
bound  to  come — this  moment  of  conflict,  and  now 
that  it  was  here,  he  would  meet  it  like  a  man !  Stand- 
ing there,  resolute  and  defiant,  he  struck  the  first 
blow. 


THE   FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  289 

Father  James  met  the  words,  met  the  antagonistic 
glance;  and  in  the  humble  simplicity  of  his  heart 
prayed  that  he  might  do  the  right. 

"Stephen,"  he  said  gently,  "I  have  been  talking  to 
Daisy ;  I  know  it  all." 

Carey  threw  up  his  head  in  swift  indignation. 
"Then  the  whole  crowd  knows!  Oh,  this  is  intoler- 
able !" 

"Easy,  boy!  Easy!  No  one  else  knows.  No  one 
only  me  knows  what  passed  between  you — ^not  even 
Mary.  Her  trouble  seems  to  have  made  a  woman  of 
the  poor  child,  all  of  a  sudden." 

He  searched  Carey's  face  for  any  softening,  but 
there  was  none,  and  he  put  out  his  hand  towards  him 
in  sudden  supplication. 

"Stephen,  Stephen,  have  you  no  thought  that  she's 
your  wife — that  she'* " 

But  Carey  flung  out  his  arms  in  a  sharp,'  uncon- 
trolled gesture. 

"Father  James,"  he  cried,  **FTe  remembered  her  for 
five  years !  now  I'm  remembering  no  one  but  myself !" 

There  was  revolt  and  passion  in  the  cry ;  and  Father 
James,  with  his  knowledge  of  life,  with  his  instinct  of 
race,  admitted  with  a  sinking  heart  that  here  was  no 
playing  with  fire,  but  a  great  conflagration  induced 
by  a  strong  hand. 

"Stephen !"  he  exclaimed- 

But  Carey's  tongue  was  loosed,  and  his  words  rushed 
forth,  a  torrent  that  laughed  at  flood-gates. 

"Look  here,  Father  James!"  he  cried.     "You  think 


290  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

you  know  me — you  think  you've  known  me  all  these 
years  since  my  father  died;  but  you've  never  known 
me.  Never!  Never!  What  have  I  seemed  to  you? 
A  plodding,  industrious,  sensible  man — ^the  sort  of 
man  to  do  well — to  marry — to  settle  down !  Oh,  we 
both  know  the  cant!  But  underneath  all  that — far 
down — fathoms  down — I  have  been  something  quite 
different  all  the  time.  I  tell  you  I  have  had  big 
dreams — I  am  my  father's  son !"  He  paused  and  drew 
a  quick,  sharp  breath. 

"You've  thought  me  content — ^you've  thought  me 
satisfied;  but  I  can  tell  you  often  and  often,  sitting 
in  my  office,  living  out  the  petty  routine,  playing  the 
eternal  game,  the  world  has  risen  up  before  me  till 
my  head  swam.  I've  wanted  it  all,  all,  all,  I  tell  you 
— success — riches — women!"  He  wiped  his  damp 
forehead  with  the  back  of  his  hand  and  took  another 
sharp,  hard  breath. 

"Oh,  I've  kept  it  under — ^you  needn't  remind  me  of 
that.  But  a  volcano  is  quiet  till  the  fire  breaks  out !" 
He  stopped  once  more  to  look  defiance  at  the  old 
priest  standing  before  him  with  fear  in  his  heart  and 
faith  and  prayer  in  his  soul. 

"I've  kept  it  under.  I've  worked  and  plodded  and 
slaved  till  I  thought  I  had  reconciled  myself;  but  I 
find  that  I  was  wrong.  I  suddenly  find  that  for  me, 
even  for  me, — the  respectable  citizen,  the  cut-and- 
dried  lawyer, — there's  life  to  be  lived ;  and,  by  God, 
do  you  think  I'll  refuse  it?" 

"Stephen!     Stephen!    What  are  you  saying?" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  291 

"What  you  hear.  Just  exactly  what  you  hear.  I've 
found  a  woman  who  is  gold  and  wine  beside  the  women 
I  have  known,  and  I'm  going  to  have  her,  if  hell  stood 
between  us !" 

Father  James  looked  at  him  quietly  and  steadily. 
"  'Tis  easier  to  bridge  hell  than  to  bridge  life, 
Stephen !" 

The  gentle,  sober  tone  steadied  Carey. 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

"I  think  you  do,  Stephen.  What  I  mean  is  that  a 
man  can  never  undo  any  single  thing  that  he  has 
done." 

Once  again  Carey  wiped  his  forehead ;  then  he  thrust 
at  his  antagonist  again  with  renewed  fierceness.  "I 
see  what  you  mean !  I've  expected  this — I'm  pre- 
pared for  it.  But  I'll  have  it  without  any  of  your 
philosophy;  I'll  have  it  in  brutal  facts.  I'm  a  man 
who  has  had  to  live  in  spite  of  the  world — a  man  who 
has  had  to  work — had  to  marry — had  to  conform  in 
every  way.     I  know  that  I  have  a  wife " 

"And  children,  Stephen." 

Carey's  mouth  hardened.  "Yes — and  sons,"  he  cor- 
rected. "I  have  a  wife  and  sons ;  but  a  wife  who  has 
no  more  susceptibility  than  a  doll,  and  sons  who  can- 
not fail  to  make  their  way,  for  they  will  have  money 
and  a  pack  of  relations — the  two  passports  to  success 
in  this  damned  country.  Am  I  to  stand  back  because 
fate  has  thrust  me  into  this  position  ?  Am  I  to  refuse 
what  the  gods  give?" 

"Stephen,  you're  mad!" 


292  THE   FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"Am  I  mad?  Is  this  mad?"  He  walked  back  to  the 
table  and  caught  up  a  sheaf  of  papers.  "When  you 
came,  I  was  going  through  ray  papers — no  one  shall 
say  I  left  my  wife  unprovided  for." 

"Stephen  !  Stephen,  boy  !  Is  it  you  that  are  speak- 
ing?    To  pay  off  your  wife  with  money!" 

"My  wife!    The  doll  out  of  the  shop  window!" 

"A  doll !  A  doll,  is  it  ?  I  wish  you  could  have  seen 
her  to-day.  Faith,  Stephen,  'twas  a  doll  with  the 
paint  washed  off!" 

Carey's  wrath  boiled.  "Daisy !"  he  cried.  "Daisy ! 
Is  it  always  to  be  Daisy !  I  tell  you  it's  life,  not  toys, 
I'm  playing  with  now." 

"But  that's  not  life,  Stephen !  That's  not  life !  It's 
neither  life  nor  love — ^but  just  the  temptation  of  the 
flesh." 

Carey  turned  on  him  with  fierce  contempt.  "And 
what  does  a  priest  know  of  a  man's  temptations?" 

A  very  humble  look  came  over  Father  James's  face, 
and  for  a  moment  he  stood  silent;  then  he  raised  his 
head  slowly,  and  something  akin  to  illumination  shone 
in  his  eyes. 

"Don't  be  too  sure  about  that,  Stephen.  Priests  are 
men  too — and  there's  more  than  one  sort  of  tempta- 
tion. You  wouldn't  think  to  look  at  me  now  that  I 
had  a  besetting  sin  once — and  that  sin  pride — ^would 
you  ?" 

Carey  was  silent — silent  and  ironical. 

"Well,  I  had,  then — I  had."  Father  James's  voice 
dropped.     "  'Twas  long  ago,  before  your  time,  when 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  293 

I  was  one  of  David  Marsden's  curates  down  at  Bally- 
karney.  He's  dead  these  thirty  years — the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  him ! — but  he  was  a  big  man  in  his  own  lit- 
tle way,  a  great  aristocrat  and  a  well-read  man  too; 
and  whatever  the  reason  of  it  was,  he  took  a  fancy  to 
me  from  the  first,  and  I  raw  from  Maynooth.  I  never 
could  rightly  understand  it,  but  he  was  always 
friendly  to  me  in  his  old-fashioned,  grand  sort  of  a 
way;  and  often  after  the  early  mass,  when  I'd  be 
after  preaching,  he'd  come  up  to  me  in  the  chapel 
yard  and  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  'Mr.  Baron,'  he'd  say,  as  we  walked  together  to 
the  gate.  He'd  never  put  the  'Father'  to  our  names, 
always  the  'Mister.'  'Mr.  Baron,  you  have  a  brogue 
that  could  be  cut  with  a  knife ;  but,  'pon  my  word, 
you'd  coax  the  birds  off  the  bushes  with  that  tongue 
of  yours !' 

"And  so  it  went  on,  Stephen,  from  one  thing  to 
another.  It  seemed  like  as  if  his  fancy  for  me  was 
contagious,  for  people  outside  Ballykamey  began 
taking  notice  of  me  too;  I  began  to  be  asked  up  to 
Waterford  to  preach  charity  sermons.  At  last  I  was 
made  a  curate  at  one  of  the  city  churches.  You  heard 
all  that,  maybe,  long  ago ;  but  what  you  never  heard 
was  that  pride  began  to  grow  up  in  me — pride  that 
I  was  picked  out  before  older  and  better  men  to  teach 
the  Word  of  God — and  pride  that  the  space  round 
my  confessional  used  to  be  black  with  penitents  of  a 
Saturday  night.  Then  it  came  that  people  began  to 
flatter  me  and  to  call  me  lucky ;  they  began  to  say 


294  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

that  I  had  a  grand  future  in  front  of  me,  and  that 
the  bishop  had  me  in  mind  for  a  big  parish.  But, 
mind  you,  Stephen,  there's  a  queer  way  in  all  these 
things !  People  said  I  was  a  great  man ;  but  the  old 
bishop — the  Lord  have  mercy  on  him! — knew  better, 
and  the  Almighty  knew  better  still.  I  wasn't  a  great 
man,  and  time  was  to  learn  it  to  me. 

"Well,  Stephen,  the  years  passed  on — Easter  and 
Advent  and  Christmas — and  one  by  one  the  parishes 
fell  in,  and  one  by  one  other  men  got  them ;  and  sick 
and  sore  and  sorry  grew  my  heart,  and  less  and  less 
they  called  me  lucky,  till  at  last  I  would  see  them 
looking  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of  their  eye,  and 
hear  them  whispering  behind  my  back,  'Poor  James 
Baron !    His  chance  has  passed  him  by !' 

"Well,  Stephen,  my  heart  went  near  to  breaking 
all  those  years,  though  nobody  ever  knew  it ;  and  then 
at  last — at  long  and  at  last — the  parish  came.  It 
came — and  I  fifty-five  years  old — and  what  do  you 
think  it  was?  What  do  you  think  it  was,  Stephen? 
What  but  Scarragh — Scarragh,  a  bit  of  a  mountain- 
side with  the  grazing  of  a  handful  of  goats!  I  tell 
you  I  had  black  thoughts  the  night  I  knew  it  first. 
I  had  thoughts  of  refusing  it  altogether  and  going 
out  to  America.  In  America,  I  said  to  myself,  a  man 
can  find  his  level!"  He  paused,  and  threw  a  quick 
glance  at  Carey  from  under  his  lashes.  "But  the  Al- 
mighty— thanks  be  to  Him ! — put  sense  into  me, 
Stephen — and  I  said  nothing  and  went  where  I  was 
told ;  but  the  first  Sunday  that  I  said  mass  in  my  lit- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  295 

tie  bam  of  a  chapel  there  was  never  a  sorer  man.  I 
tell  you  that,  priest  and  all  as  I  was,  there  was  red 
rebellion  in  me  when  I  turned  round  to  preach  to  the 
handful  of  a  congregation — savages,  I  think  I  called 
them  in  my  arrogance  and  pride! 

"But,  Stephen,  God's  ways  are  queer !  I  stood  there, 
not  knowing  how  I  was  going  to  put  my  tongue  to  a 
sermon,  when  my  eyes  fell  on  an  old  man  kneeling  on 
the  bare  flags  near  the  altar  rails.  I  had  seen  the  old 
fellow  the  day  before,  and  somebody  had  said  to  me, 
'That's  old  Darby  Farrell  of  the  mountain ;  he's  all 
alone  up  there  now;  his  six  sons  are  dead,  and  his 
three  grandchildren  are  after  going  to  America  last 
week.'  The  words  came  back  to  my  mind  as  I  stood 
there  looking  at  him.  His  poor  old  bones  were 
doubled  up  with  the  rheumatism  and  the  work,  his 
fingers  were  that  twisted  that  he  could  hardly  pass 
the  rosary  beads  through  them,  and  his  face  had  the 
look  of  starvation  in  it ;  but  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
tabernacle,  and  his  lips  were  moving  all  the  time,  and 
I  would  have  taken  my  oath  then  and  there  that  he 
was  thanking  God ! 

"I  tell  you,  if  the  Almighty  had  put  out  His  hand 
and  touched  me  that  minute,  I  couldn't  have  felt  it 
more.  All  of  a  sudden  my  pride  melted,  and  I  spoke 
to  those  poor,  simple  people  as  I  had  never  spoken 
in  a  grand  city  church ;  and  when  the  mass  was  over, 
I  went  back  to  my  little  bit  of  a  house  and  I  burned 
every  sermon  I  ever  wrote.  That's  many  a  year  ago 
now,  Stephen,  but  there  hasn't  been  a  day  since  then 


296  THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL 

that  I  haven't  blessed  God  on  my  bended  knees;  for 
when  I  walk  out  on  my  bit  of  a  mountain  and  see  the 
plants  sprouting  up  out  of  the  earth,  and  look  up  at 
the  sky  and  see  the  stars  shining — each  one  in  its  own 
course,  each  one  in  its  own  place — I  see  things  that, 
maybe,  I'd  never  have  seen  all  my  life  long  if  I  was 
a  great  man  with  a  big  congregation  and  a  big 
church — and  perhaps  a  big  debt  harassing  my 
mind !" 

Father  James  stopped.  Without  artificiality,  with- 
out self-consciousness,  he  had  told  his  story.  With 
fierce  persistency  Carey  had  closed  his  ears  to  the  sim- 
ple sentiment  lying  within  it,  but  against  his  will  the 
truth  behind  the  sentiment  had  penetrated  his  brain. 
It  was  the  pronouncement  of  a  man  thirty  years  older 
than  himself — ^thirty  years  nearer  the  grave — thirty 
years  further  removed  from  human  prejudice,  from 
human  passion.  Fear  gripped  him — an  appalHng 
fear — ^the  fear  of  renouncing  that  which  he  coveted. 

"That's  all  very  well !"  he  cried  suddenly.  "That's 
all  very  well  for  you,  but  not  a  word  of  it  applies  to 
me — not  a  word  of  it." 

Father  James  had  seen  this  attitude  before;  he  had 
seen  it  in  the  condemned  criminal,  refusing  to  make 
his  peace  with  God;  he  had  seen  it  in  the  sick  and 
sorry  of  soul,  coming  with  lagging  steps  and  hot, 
rebellious  hearts  to  the  tribunal  of  confession,  and 
never  once  had  his  courage  failed  before  it. 

"Stephen,"  he  said  quietly,  "can  you  dare  to  tell  me 
that  ?    Can  you  look  down  into  your  soul,  and  dare  to 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  297 

tell  me  that  you  are  so  big  a  man  that  you  are  ex- 
empt from  the  common  lot  that  falls  to  us  all?" 

"I'm  choosing  the  common  lot — I'm  going  the  com- 
mon way!" 

"You're  going  the  coward's  way !" 

In  the  might  of  his  zeal,  the  shabby  figure  of  Father 
James  seemed  to  tower  in  the  silent  room ;  there  was 
grandeur  in  his  rugged  face,  power  in  his  rough 
voice.  He  was  fighting  for  the  soul  he  loved,  and 
the  weapons  he  used  were  eternal. 

"Stephen,"  he  cried,  "your  duty  is  plain  before  you ! 
You  married  Daisy,  and  the  day  you  married  her  you 
shut  every  life  away  from  her  but  the  life  with  you. 
You  gave  your  word  to  the  Almighty  God  to  keep 
and  guard  her.  Are  you  a  man  at  all,  that  you're 
forgetting  that?" 

With  sudden  violence  Carey  struck  the  table. 
*'Haven't  you  finished  yet?  Good  God,  haven't  you 
finished  yet?" 

"Not  yet,  Stephen !  Not  yet !  There's  one  thing  yet 
I  have  to  say.  It's  the  remembering  of  a  day  long 
ago,  when  you  and  I  stood  like  this,  and  faced  out 
bitter  things.  'Twas  twelve  months  after  the  poor 
father's  death,  and  it  seemed  that  something  near  to 
ruin  was  staring  you  in  the  face.  I  remember  the 
little  room  in  your  lodgings  as  if  it  was  yesterday, 
and  I  remember  the  pain  that  was  in  my  heart  to  see 
the  old  look  coming  on  your  young  face  that  ought 
to  be  turning  towards  nothing  but  amusement.  I  re- 
member it  well,  Stephen;  I  remember  it  well.     You 


298  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

stood  for  a  long  time  with  never  a  word  and  never  a 
sign ;  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  you  turned  on  me,  fierce- 
like  and  determined. 

"  *I'll  live  it  down.  Father  James !'  you  cried  out. 
*I'll  live  it  down;  but,  by  God,  if  ever  I  have  sons 
of  my  own,  they'll  never  have  a  hell  of  their  father's 
making !'  " 

It  was  the  old  priest's  last  arrow,  and  it  sped  home 
swift  and  true.  For  a  long  space  Carey  stood,  silent 
and  white ;  then,  like  a  man  dazed,  he  went  forward  and 
put  his  hands  roughly  on  Father  James's  shoulders. 

"Go  away !  Go  away !"  he  said  hoarsely.  "I've  had 
enough !" 

Father  James  made  no  resistance;  he  went  quietly 
across  the  room,  but  at  the  door  he  paused  solemnly 
and  looked  back. 

"Stephen,"  he  said  gently,  "may  the  Almighty  God 
bless  and  help  you!"  Then  he  turned  and  passed 
into  the  hall. 

Until  the  last  footfall  had  died  into  silence,  and  the 
thud  of  the  closing  door  had  echoed  through  the 
house,  Carey  never  moved:  then,  haltingly,  unstead- 
ily, after  the  manner  of  a  man  who  has  suffered  long 
illness,  he  walked  back  to  the  table,  seated  himself  at 
his  old  place,  and,  throwing  his  arms  out  across  the 
scattered  papers,  let  his  head  fall  forward  into  his 
hands. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

There  are  periods  in  the  life  of  every  man  when 
mind  and  body  seem  disassociated,  and  time  and  space 
become  as  vague  conceptions  failing  to  touch  the  per- 
sonal ;  when  events  loom  up  like  a  fleet  of  ships  that, 
rudderless  and  with  tattered  sails,  plough  headlong 
to  destruction  before  the  hurricane  of  fate. 

Such  a  period  of  cloud  and  stress  enveloped  Carey. 
No  recollection  of  time,  no  consciousness  of  place, 
moved  him,  as  he  cowered  in  his  attitude  of  despair. 
He  felt  maimed,  mentally  and  physically ;  and  with 
the  shame  of  mutilation,  his  courage  ebbed. 

The  minutes  passed,  sultry  and  leaden;  the  usual 
sounds  of  an  empty  house  started  out  of  the  silence 
— the  cracking  of  the  furniture,  the  scraping  of  a 
mouse,  the  faint  flutter  of  the  hideous  paper  decora- 
tion in  the  grate ;  then  from  overhead  came  the  thud 
and  shuffle  of  Mrs.  Brien's  feet  as  she  made  up  his 
bedroom,  the  banging  of  the  basin  and  jug  on  the 
marble-topped  washstand,  the  scraping  of  the  casters 
as  she  pulled  the  bed  this  way  and  that.  At  another 
time  these  descriptive  noises  would  have  driven  him 
to  action ;  now  they  did  not  even  penetrate  the  outer 
wall  of  his  absorption.  He  sat  numbed  and  impotent, 
broken  by  the  storm. 

Time  passed — a  quarter  of  an  hour,  half  an  hour,  an 
hour;  then  at  last  a  new  sound  broke  the  quiet — the 


300  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

loud,  imperious  ringing  of  the  hall-door  bell.  He 
heard  it  as  he  had  heard  the  rest,  without  interest, 
without  fear,  without  curiosity.  All  the  world  might 
come  now!    Nothing  mattered. 

Upstairs,  Mrs.  Brien  also  heard  it,  and  paused  in 
her  noisy  cleaning  of  the  bedroom. 

"Let  ye  ring  agin — ^whoever  ye  are!"  she  said  to 
herself,  considering  her  feet  and  the  long  flight  of 
stairs. 

As  though  the  unseen  visitor  were  conscious  of  her 
remark,  the  bell  clashed  forth  once  more — this  time 
with  such  vigour  that  she  dropped  the  dust-pan  and 
brush  that  she  was  holding. 

"How  impatient  ye  are — whoever  ye  are !"  she  mut- 
tered as  she  tramped  downstairs,  straightening  her 
dirty  apron  as  she  went. 

Passing  along  the  hall,  she  took  an  inquisitive 
glance  at  the  closed  door  of  the  breakfast- room ;  then 
she  hastily  pulled  down  her  sleeves  and  opened  the 
hall  door  an  inch  or  two. 

Through  this  aperture  she  took  a  grudging  look  at 
the  intruder,  and  either  her  heart  softened  or  there 
was  something  unusually  interesting  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  visitor,  for  she  opened  the  door  another 
inch. 

"Good  morning,  miss!"  she  hazarded  in  her  most 
amiable  tones.  "I  suppose  'tis  Mrs.  Carey  you're 
after  wantin'.?" 

The  visitor  flushed  a  deeper  red  than  that  which  al- 
ready mantled  her  cheeks. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  301 

"No,"  she  said  quickly.  "It's  Mr.  Carey  I  want  to 
see.     He's  here,  isn't  he?" 

Mrs.  Brien  took  a  closer  survey  of  the  youthful 
figure  and  expressive  face,  and  a  dozen  questions 
made  medley  in  her  brain. 

"Mr.  Carey?"  she  repeated.  "Sure,  'tis  at  the  office 
Mr.  Carey  always  do  be  at  this  time  a  the  day !" 

The  visitor  took  a  step  nearer  to  the  hall  door.  "I 
know !  I  know  that !  But  I  was  at  the  office  and  he's 
not  there.  So  he  must  be  here.  He  is,  isn't  he?  Do 
tell  me." 

Long  afterwards,  in  the  privacy  of  her  family  cir- 
cle, over  a  teapot  of  stewing  tea,  Mrs.  Brien  was  wont 
to  declare  that  the  look  which  accompained  this  ap- 
peal would  have  melted  the  heart  of  a  stone;  so  her 
reply  when  it  came  was  becomingly  soft. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "  'twouldn't  be  wishin'  for  me  to 
be  tellin'  you  a  lie,  an'  'tis  inside  by  himself  in  the 
breakfast-room  he  is  this  very  minute.  But  I  don^t 
know  at  all,  God  help  me,  that  I  ought  to  be  disturbin' 
him." 

"But  you  will?  You  will?"  In  her  insistent  eager- 
ness the  visitor  stepped  across  the  threshold.  "It's 
very  particular — I  promise  you  he  won't  be  vexed." 

Mrs.  Brien  shook  her  head  weakly,  and  drew  back 
into  the  hall,  giving  ingress  to  the  intruder. 

"Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  God  help  me  if  I'm  doin' 
wrong !"  She  shook  her  head  once  more,  led  the  way 
down  the  hall,  and  very  tentatively  knocked  on  the 
breakfast-room  door. 


S02  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Impatience  spread  over  the  visitor's  face.  "Knock 
again !"  she  urged. 

"Sure,  I'd  be  in  dhread,  miss !  'Tisn't  an  hour  since 
I  heard  the  hall  door  shuttin'  on  another  visitor — 
and  maybe  he's  thinkin'  'tis  enough  of  it  he  had." 

"Then,  let  me !" 

"Oh,  don't,  miss !  Don't,  for  God's  sake !  'Tis  as 
much  as  my  place  is  worth." 

**Then  go  away,  and  let  me  do  it  alone.  I'm  not 
afraid  of  him."  The  girl  put  her  hands  on  the  char- 
woman's shoulders  and  pushed  her  from  the  door. 
*'Go  back  to  your  work,  and  he  won't  even  know  that 
you  let  me  in." 

The  woman  j'ielded ;  and  with  a  quick  gesture,  at 
once  triumphant  and  excited,  her  conqueror  turned 
the  handle  of  the  door  and  walked  into  the  breakfast- 
room. 

The  opening  of  the  door  was  sharp  and  sudden ; 
Carey  wheeled  round  in  his  chair,  then  sat  motionless. 

"Isabel !" 

Isabel  closed  the  door  softly  and  securely,  then 
turned  and  looked  at  him. 

It  would  have  been  difficult — it  would  have  been 
wellnigh  impossible — to  guess  at  the  thoughts,  the 
questions  that  held  sway  in  her  mind  at  that  curious 
moment, — at  the  war  of  sensations  that  clashed 
within  her.  In  the  expression  of  her  eyes,  in  the  poise 
of  her  young  body,  in  her  eager,  parted  lips  was  the 
flowering  of  some  subtle  promise — the  outpouring  of 
that   mystic   essence   of   womanhood    that   had   en- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  SOS 

chained  Carey  by  its  strange  and  secret  suggestion 
in  his  first  vision  of  her  at  Fair  Hill. 

She  stood  there,  waiting,  expectant;  and  as  he  made 
no  sign,  she  tiptoed  across  the  room  and  paused  be- 
side his  chair. 

"I  came,"  she  said. 

It  was  a  breath — a  mere  whisper — but  it  ran  hke 
wine  through  his  blood.  For  one  conquering  mo- 
ment all  things  became  dim;  the  knowledge  of  her 
presence  wrapped  him  like  a  perfumed  garment;  he 
turned  to  her,  holding  out  his  hands. 

With  a  little  cry  she  caught  them. 

"Ah !    And  I  thought  that  you  were  angry !" 

A  flood  of  warmth,  of  passionate  relief,  swept 
through  the  words.  She  confessed  herself  in  that 
brief  sentence — laid  bare  her  heart  without  fear  or 
shame. 

"I  know  something  happened  last  night,  but  I  don't 
know  what  it  was."  Her  tongue,  loosed  by  her  re- 
turned confidence,  ran  on  in  swift  explanation.  "I 
saw  nobody  at  all  at  breakfast  this  morning;  and 
Julia  told  me  that  you  went  up  to  town  last  night  on 
business,  and  that  Mary  and  Father  James  went  up 
with  Tom  at  nine  this  morning.  At  first  I  was  afraid, 
and  wandered  about  the  garden,  wondering  what  I 
had  better  do ;  and  then  suddenly — suddenly."  Her 
fingers  tightened  about  his,  her  eyes  besought  his  un- 
derstanding. "I  felt  that  whatever  had  happened — 
whatever  it  was — I  must  come  to  you.  So  I  came! 
Was  it  any  harm?" 


304  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Again  the  confession  of  allegiance — the  sweet,  spon- 
taneous confession  in  eyes  and  voice  and  words.  In 
sudden  torture  of  mind,  Carey  freed  his  hands. 

"Was  it  any  harm  ?    Oh,  it  was !    You  are  angry !" 

"No." 

"Then  what.'"'  Doubt  ran  through  her  words  like 
a  fine  vibration. 

"Nothing.     Nothing." 

"Then  why  did  you  turn  away?" 

"Did  I  turn  away?"  He  was  striving  blindly  to 
gain  time,  attempting  vainly  to  compound  with  fate. 

"Yes,  you  did.  Oh,  I  don't  understand !  You  must 
be  either  sorry  I  came — or  glad.  You  must  be  either 
pleased  or  angry.  Which  are  you?  Which?  Which?" 

"Glad."     The  words  slipped  out. 

Again  she  gave  a  little  cry,  seizing  upon  the  admis- 
sion. "Ah,  then  nothing  else  matters !"  With  a  sud- 
den gracious  movement  she  dropped  to  her  knees  be- 
side him,  and,  looking  up,  strove  to  read  his  face. 

"If  you  are  glad,  nothing  else  matters !  Nothing 
else  in  the  whole  wide  world  matters!  Wasn't  that 
what  you  said  last  night?" 

There  was  triumph,  love,  infinite  allurement  in  the 
inflexions  of  her  voice.  She  nestled  up  to  him,  draw- 
ing about  her  eyes  that  web  of  obhvion  that  women 
so  deftly  weave,  shutting  from  her  vision  the  broader 
issues  of  the  moment,  content  in  the  consciousness  of 
loving  and  being  loved.  She  caught  his  hand  again 
and  held  it  against  her  cheek,  and  the  warmth  of  the 
contact  passed  into  him,  thrilling  him.     The  wild  ap- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  305 

peal  of  the  blood  woke  in  him,  and  with  it  the  oppos- 
ing cry  of  his  will. 

He  withdrew  his  hand  suddenly,  almost  pushing  her 
from  him. 

"Isabel,"  he  said,  "we  must  forget  last  night!  Do 
you  understand.''  We  must  forget  last  night!  It's 
past  and  dead  and  done  with.  We  must  forget 
it!" 

Never  afterwards  could  Isabel  remember  what  she  did 
in  that  moment,  when  the  blood  receded  to  her  heart, 
ebbing  from  her  face,  her  .hands,  her  feet,  and  then 
rushed  back — a  torrent  that  sang  in  her  ears.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  the  world  had  slipped  away — that 
she  was  alone  with  Carey  in  space,  in  some  vague  and 
nebulous  place,  where  time  and  circumstance  did  not 
exist.  When  at  last  her  tongue  found  words,  her 
voice  assailed  her  ears,  an  uncontrolled,  unfamiliar 
thing. 

"What  do  you  mean.'*    We  must  forget  last  night.'"* 

Then,  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  entered  the 
room,  he  felt  the  impulse  to  stand  up,  not  from  the 
sense  of  courtesy,  but  from  the  blind  human  instinct 
of  facing  peril  or  pain  upon  one's  feet  rather  than 
crouching  in  a  seat.  He  rose,  and  stood  before  her, 
one  hand  holding  the  back  of  his  chair,  the  other 
resting  on  the  papers  that  still  lay  upon  the  table. 
There  was  something  inexpressibly  hopeless  in  the 
pose  of  his  body — something  final  and  tragic  that 
sent  the  blood  back  once  more  to  her  heart. 

"Oh,  what  is  it .?"  she  cried,  in  sudden  articulate  fear. 


306  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"What  is  it?  Don't  stand  like  that.  Don't  look  like 
that." 

"It's  nothing — but  that  we  must  forget  last  night. 
That  we  must  forget  it." 

She  stared  at  his  drawn  face.  "But  why?  But 
why?  Oh,  but  you're  teasing  me!  It's  some  joke!" 
She  tried  to  laugh ;  but  it  was  a  laugh  that  withered 
away,  and  in  the  silence  that  succeeded — the  close, 
stifling  silence  that  blent  itself  with  the  atmosphere 
of  the  room — ^the  fear  within  her  turned  to  panic. 

*'0h,  say  something !  Make  me  understand !  I'll  feel 
that  I'm  going  mad  if  you  don't  make  me  understand. 
Last  night  you  said  that  nobody  existed  but  me — 
that  I  was  the  one  thing  in  the  world  that  made  you 
want  to  live — that " 

Carey  threw  out  his  hands.  "Stop !  For  the  sake 
of  God,  stop !  I  tell  you  there  was  no  last  night.  We 
dreamt  it.    It  never  was." 

She  faltered  a  little,  but  her  courage  was  a  strong 
thing.  With  an  impulse,  intensely  ardent,  intensely 
feminine,  she  moved  towards  him  again. 

"Something  has  happened  that  I  don't  understand. 
But,  look,  look,  I  care  for  you !  I  care !"  She  made 
a  wide,  proud  gesture,  offering  herself  to  him.  "I 
care !" 

There  was  all  love — all  tenderness — all  yielding  in 
the  movement  and  in  the  words ;  in  both  it  seemed  that 
nature  had  struck  the  chord  of  a  great  harmony. 

Carey  heard  it — his  soul  vibrated  to  it,  but  he 
turned  away,  blindly,  inarticulately. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  307 

"What  is  it?    Don't  you  care  any  more?" 

He  was  silent. 

"Tell  me !  Tell  me !  I  must  know."  Fear  rushed 
in  again  over  her  voice,  marring  the  music.  Her 
words  trembled,  as  she  strove  to  make  him  meet  her 
glance. 

"I  can't  explain.  We  must  forget,  that's  all.  I 
can't  explain." 

She  drew  back  very  slowly,  as  though  her  move- 
ments were  accommodating  themselves  to  some 
strange  slow  alteration  taking  place  within  her  mind. 

"Then  you're  sorry  for  last  night?" 

"No!    By  God,  I'm  not!" 

The  cry  was  torn  from  him,  but  he  disowned  it  even 
as  he  gave  it  utterance.  "No !  I  don't  mean  that. 
I  am  sorry  for  it." 

Her  eyes  blazed.  "But  you're  not !  The  first  thing 
was  the  true  one.  You  do  care.  I  do  matter  to  you." 
She  stepped  forward,  catching  his  arm.  "Look  at 
me!  You  must.  You  must.  Nothing  in  the  world 
can  put  last  night  away.  What  does  anything  else 
matter?  We  care  for  each  other.  I'm  much  more 
mad  now  than  I  was  last  night ;  then  I  was  afraid — 
I  was  afraid  even  to  let  you  kiss  me ;  but  afterwards, 
when  I  was  alone  in  my  own  room  in  the  dark,  I  knew 
that  I  had  imagined  all  the  fear.  If  you  had  come 
for  me  then,  I'd  have  gone  with  you  out  of  the  house, 
and  not  cared  who  saw.  If  you  were  a  tramp,  walk- 
ing the  roads  from  one  town  to  another,  I'd  rather 
walk  them  with  you  than  be  married  to  a  king.     I 


308  THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

never  knew  I  could  feel  so  much.  It's  all  here — 
choking  me !"  She  put  her  hand  to  her  throat.  "  'Tis 
that  that  made  me  come  here  to-day — the  feeling  that 
I  must  tell  you." 

She  stopped — breathless,  passionate,  reckless  in  her 
prodigal  giving.  The  emotions  of  her  ancestors  were 
racing  through  her — her  blood  was  proving  itself  in 
a  riot  of  feeling. 

Carey  listened — each  word,  each  quickly-taken 
breath,  searing  him  like  a  flame.  At  last  his  endur- 
ance broke. 

"Stop!"  he  said.  "Stop!  It's  all  over.  It's  all 
over,  I  tell  you.  We  were  mad  last  night ;  we're  sane 
to-day." 

It  was  a  torrent  of  water  on  a  kindled  fire,  and  the 
fire  hissed  up  to  meet  it,  quivering  and  fierce. 

"You  mean  that.?  Truly,  really,  honestly  you  mean 
that?" 

"I  do." 

No  words  in  his  life  had  cost  him  what  those  two 
words  cost,  but  he  said  them  steadily. 

"You  mean  it.?  After  all  that  you  said.?  After  all 
that  I  said.?" 

He  bent  his  head. 

"Then  some  one  has  been  here?  Some  one  has 
changed  you.?"  She  flashed  round  upon  him,  her 
body  trembling,  her  eyes  alight  with  question.  Her 
emotions  were  swaying  her  from  one  pole  to  the 
other;  it  was  a  toss  of  a  coin  whether  love  or  hate 
turned  the  scale. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  309 

He  stood  rigid — rigid  as  he  had  been  in  Father 
James's  presence. 

"I  told  you  I  have  no  defence  to  make.  I  know  I 
seem  a  criminal  and  a  coward;  but  you  are  young, 
you  will  forget — and  it  doesn't  matter  about  me.  I 
can  only  say,  thank  God  I  didn't  ask  you  to  come 
with  me  last  night !" 

Isabel's  face  flamed.  "You  say  that?  You  say 
*thank  God'  you  didn't  ask  me  to  come  with  you  last 
night.?" 

"I  do." 

"Then  I  say  'thank  God'  too !" 

The  scale  had  turned.  Her  face  was  white  with 
rage — her  whole  being  quivered  with  it.  She  seemed 
the  very  figure  of  fury — of  outraged  pride. 

"I  told  you  while  ago  that  I  cared  for  you,"  she  said 
when  she  could  command  her  voice.  "Now  I  tell  you 
that  I  feel  nothing — nothing — nothing  but  that  I 
hate  you.  I  loathe  you ;  I  detest  you.  You  are  one 
of  the  rest — just  one  of  the  rest.  What  a  fool  I  was 
ever  to  have  thought  that  you  were  different !  What 
a  fool!  What  a  fool!  I'm  all  right  to  dance  with 
and  to  flirt  with,  when  there's  nothing  better  to  do ; 
but  next  morning,  when  you've  had  time  to  think " 

"Isabel !" 

"Next  morning  you  can  say  'thank  God  I'm  well  out 
of  it !'  " 

"Isabel !"  He  stood  impotent  before  the  sweeping 
gale  of  her  rage.  All  the  man  in  him  cried  apprecia- 
tion of  her  scorn ;  all  the  passion  in  him  urged  him  to 


SIO  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

one  act — ^to  seize  her  in  his  arms,  to  hold  her  as  he  had 
held  her  last  night,  covering  her  lips  with  kisses,  hid- 
ing his  face  in  the  dark  cloud  of  her  hair.  But  he 
made  no  movement;  he  stood  stonily  silent,  seeing 
with  the  eyes  of  his  mind  the  thronging  ghosts  that 
surged  between  them. 

And  Isabel  saw  only  the  mask — the  set  face,  the 
impassive  figure. 

"Oh,"  she  cried  again,  "I  wonder  now,  when  I  look 
at  you,  how  I  could  ever  have  been  so  mad  as  to  care ! 
I  wish  I  had  words  enough  to  tell  you  all  I  feel.  To 
say  that  I  hate  you  is  nothing — ^nothing " 

She  drew  a  sharp  breath;  and  their  eyes  met  in  a 
long  eloquent  glance. 

"I  feel — I  feel  that  I  could  kill  you !"  she  said ;  and 
turning  suddenly,  she  ran  to  the  door,  ran  down  the 
hall  and  out  into  the  close,  deserted  street. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

Down  the  street  went  Isabel — a  slim  white  figure  in 
the  still  picture  of  dusty  town  life,  hurrying  onward, 
looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  seeking  her  home 
with  the  instinct  of  a  hurt  animal.  The  heat  was  in- 
tense, her  light  cotton  dress  felt  a  weight  about  her 
limbs,  her  exhaustion  showed  itself  in  a  dew  of  mois- 
ture that  broke  out  upon  her  forehead,  but  she  never 
paused,  never  moderated  her  pace  until  the  New  Town 
hill  confronted  her  with  its  ironical  sense  of  old  asso- 
ciation. 

Waterford  is  a  lethargic  place  on  a  summer  morn- 
ing, and  she  aroused  little  comment  as  she  made  her 
hasty  progress.  One  or  two  passers-by  looked  after 
her,  to  wonder  why  any  one  should  hurry  on  so  hot 
a  day ;  otherwise,  she  passed  unnoticed. 

There  was  nobody  about,  as  she  opened  Miss  Cos- 
tello's  little  gate ;  nobody  about,  as  she  walked  up  the 
little  strip  of  garden,  arid  in  the  baking  sunshine. 
It  looked  like  a  place  of  death,  and  the  rage  in  her 
heart  burned  hotter  as  her  glance  skimmed  over  the 
dry  earth  and  parched  flowers. 

This  was  life,  a  thing  of  revolt — ^hot,  thirsty, 
seared ! 

She  raised  her  hand  and  pulled  the  bell  until  its 
sound  echoed  through  the  house,  causing  Lizzie,  the 
servant,  to  rush  to  the  bedroom  window,  and  Miss 


312  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Costello  to  drop  the  bowl  in  which  she  was  making  a 
pudding  for  the  early  dinner. 

The  bowl  was  dropped  precipitately ;  and,  without 
waiting  to  dust  the  flour  from  her  dress,  Miss  Cos- 
tello ran  into  the  little  hall  and  opened  the  front  door. 

"What  on  earth  possessed  you  to  ring  like  that?'* 
she  demanded  angrily ;  then  amazement  overspread 
her  angry  face.  "Why,  the  Lord  defend  us,  it's  Isa- 
bel !"  she  exclaimed.  "What,  in  the  name  of  Heaven, 
has  brought  you,  child?  And  at  this  hour  of  the 
morning?     I  didn't  expect  you  for  a  week!" 

Isabel  made  no  response,  but,  pushing  past  her, 
stepped  into  the  hall. 

Miss  Costello  stared  at  her,  forgetting  in  her  sur- 
prise to  close  the  door. 

"What's  the  matter?  Did  anything  happen  to  you 
down  at  the  Careys'?" 

The  word  was  a  lash  to  Isabel's  soul.  "Nothing!" 
she  cried. 

"Then,  what  on  earth ?" 

"Nothing — nothing — nothing,  don't  I  tell  you !  I'm 
back,  that's  all.     Can't  you  see  for  yourself!" 

"But  how  did  you  get  here?    Where's  your  trunk?'* 

"I  left  it.     It's  down  there." 

Miss  Costello  stood  with  open  mouth.  "Is  it  the 
way  you  had  a  row  with  them — or  what?" 

"No.     It's  not.'* 

There  was  no  room  in  Isabel's  mind  for  the  thought 
of  conventionality.  Once  and  forever  she  had 
stepped  beyond  its  pale.     She  was  living  now  as  her 


THE   FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  313 

feelings  prompted — undisciplined,  primitive,  careless 
of  all  comment. 

"But,  good  gracious,"  cried  Miss  Costello,  "you 
must  give  some  reasons !  You  wouldn't  come  back 
like  this,  as  if  you  had  dropped  out  of  the  sky,  unless 
you  were  mad!" 

Isabel  wheeled  round  upon  her,  her  face  damp  and 
white.  "Then  that's  the  reason,"  she  cried.  "I  am 
mad.  I'm  stark,  staring,  raving  mad ;  and  I'd  adivse 
you  to  let  me  alone !" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  ran  up  the 
stairs;  and  Miss  Costello  heard  the  door  of  her  bed- 
room shut  with  a  crash  that  vibrated  through  the 
whole  flimsy  house. 

Inside  her  own  room,  her  first  action  was  to  wrench 
off  her  hat.  She  pulled  out  the  pins  with  fierce  haste, 
then  stuck  them  back  again  savagely  into  the  straw, 
and  flung  the  hat  from  her  across  the  room.  She  had 
known  little  of  life's  sublimities  in  her  short  span  of 
years ;  and  all  that  was  elemental  and  self-engrossed 
had  been  unloosed  by  to-day's  pain.  From  her  pas- 
sions and  her  prodigality  she  had  given  of  her  best; 
and  that  best  had  been  flung  back  to  her — a  rejected 
gift.  She  saw  nothing  behind  that  casting  back  of 
her  favours.  Carey  had  played  with  her — Carey  had 
humiliated  her — Carey  had  branded  her  as  the  poor- 
est of  things,  the  woman  who  has  off^ered  herself  and 
been  refused. 

As  she  stood  there  In  the  low-ceiled  room,  so 
cramped,  so  tawdry,  so  intolerable  in  its  herd  of  mem- 


314  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

ories,  she  lost  touch  for  ever  with  those  about  her: 
she  inevitably  proved  herself  the  possessor  of  alien 
blood — ^the  southern  woman,  all  instinct  and  emotion, 
whose  mind  in  its  native  environment  would  have 
flown  straight  to  the  thought  of  revenge — to  some 
headlong  business  of  swift-turning  wrist  and  deadly 
knife.  The  thoughts  within  her  sang  to  a  tune  gen- 
erations old — a  tune  that  the  fierce,  piratical  sailor- 
folk  who  were  her  ancestors  had  brought  with  them 
long  ago  from  Spain,  when  they  swooped  down  in  ad- 
venturous spirit  upon  the  misty  coast  of  Ireland. 

A  woman  of  these  sadder  isles  would  have  bent  under 
the  misery  that  assailed  her  in  that  hour.  Appalled 
by  the  blackness  of  life,  she  would  have  cowered  upon 
the  ground  and  wept,  until  her  agony  and  her  bitter- 
ness were  melted  by  her  tears.  But  in  Isabel  the  old 
strenuous  spirit  was  awake,  drying  up  the  source  of 
tears,  scorching  her  brain,  conserving  her  impulses 
for  some  perfect  act  of  self-expression.  She  was  the 
primitive  being — the  being  who  does  not  probe  and 
does  not  analyse — who  knows  what  life  offers,  and 
acts  instinctively  upon  the  knowledge. 

She  stood  there,  giving  rein  to  her  passions,  her 
figure  erect,  her  hands  holding  back  the  hair  from 
her  forehead;  and,  without  conscious  desire,  her  life 
reacted  itself,  passing  before  her  like  the  slides  of  a 
magic-lantern.  Each  poor  object  in  the  room  quick- 
ened some  recollection.  Here,  she  had  dressed  for  her 
first  dance,  intoxicated  with  the  joy  of  anticipation; 
here,  she  had  waited  with  beating  heart  on  the  long- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  315 

ago  Sunday  when  her  aunt  and  Carey  had  talked  in 
the  parlour  downstairs ;  here,  she  had  met  the  first 
disappointment,  hidden  in  Carey's  brief  letter. 

Her  mind  hung  over  the  remembrance  of  that  night. 
How  young  she  had  been  then,  in  her  consideration 
of  trivial  things !  Mere  ink  and  paper  had  called 
forth  her  emotions ;  mere  contact  with  Frank's  little 
bottle  of  poison  had  been  sufficient  to  make  her  shud- 
der! 

Her  mind  passed  from  one  train  of  thought  to  an- 
other. Frank!  What  a  poor,  miserable  coward 
Frank  had  proved  himself!  From  her  own  red 
anger  she  looked  back  upon  her  last  scene  with  him. 
How  differently  she  would  have  acted  on  that  morn- 
ing, had  she  been  in  his  place!  Conjuring  her 
own  coldness,  her  own  desertion,  she  wondered  now 
that  he  had  not  killed  her,  rather  than  leave  her  for 
another. 

The  scene,  as  it  might  have  been,  rose  before  her 
sharply ;  the  thought  of  the  consummating  deed — the 
poignant  act  of  killing — closed  in  upon  her  so  vividly 
that  she  drew  a  nervous,  audible  breath,  and  let  her 
hands  drop  to  her  sides. 

That  would  have  been  something  worth  doing !  That 
would  have  been  a  drowning  of  pain  and  shame!  a 
justification  of  himself! 

Enmeshed  in  the  dream,  she  closed  and  opened  her 
hands,  as  though  she  could  feel  the  touch  of  flesh,  the 
yielding  of  muscle  and  sinew.  What  she  would  give 
to  be  a  man !    To  be  a  man  for  one  hour,  with  Frank's 


316  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

lost  opportunity!  Again  her  fingers  locked  and  un- 
locked themselves;  and  her  eyes,  driven  by  her 
thoughts,  turned  to  the  spot  where  she  had  hidden 
away^  the  little  poison  bottle  on  the  night  of  the  Fair 
Hill  card-party. 

Instead  of  that  dealing  in  swift  justice,  Frank  had 
played  with  death — death  wrapped  in  little  white 
lozenges,  like  wine  in  a  sweetmeat! 

Without  definite  intention,  her  feet  moved  slowly 
across  the  room;  without  definite  intention,  they 
paused  before  the  cupboard  where  the  bottle  was  hid- 
den, and  mechanically  her  hand  went  out  towards  the 
hiding-place. 

How  young  she  had  been  then,  to  tremble  at  the 
sight  of  those  white  tabloids ! 

With  automatic  slowness  she  opened  the  drawer, 
permitting  a  scent  of  dry  decay  to  issue  forth  upon 
the  air;  and,  putting  in  her  hand,  groped  for  and 
found  the  small  glass  object. 

It  was  certainly  small,  to  carry  such  potency!  She 
drew  it  forth,  and  her  lips  twisted  scornfully.  No 
man  who  was  worth  the  name  of  man  would  have  con- 
tented himself  with  these,  while  he  had  his  own  strong 
hands!  These  were  the  weapons  of  a  child — of  a 
woman ! 

The  thought  flashed  through  her — flashed  through 
her,  unbidden,  trembling  like  a  flame  from  her  brain 
to  her  nerves — so  supreme,  so  overmastering  that  it 
shook  her  as  a  gale  shakes  the  sapling. 

She  held  the  bottle  to  the  light,  and  her  hand  trem- 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  317 

bled  so  violently  that  the  tabloids  rattled  one  against 
the  other. 

After  all,  death  was  death!  Her  muscles  suddenly 
stiffened,  her  glance  narrowed  until  a  mere  pin-point 
of  light  showed  between  the  eyelids. 

After  aU,  death  was  death !  Whether  it  was  an  af- 
fair of  knives,  of  naked  hands,  or  white  lozenges, 
death  was  death ! 


CHAPTER  XXX 

The  day  of  tumult  was  a  Friday,  and  the  Saturday 
broke  at  Kilmeaden  in  a  splendour  of  green  and  gold 
— a  lavish  prodigality  of  sunlight,  that  spread  itself 
over  tree  and  stream  and  meadow  in  a  shimmering 
banner  of  gold. 

A  wonderful  morning;  a  summer  morning,  when 
every  living  creature  basked  in  the  consciousness  of 
life;  when  birds  sang  riotously,  and  insects  hummed 
as  they  hung  passive  in  the  haze  of  heat. 

The  hour  was  nine ;  upstairs  in  the  nursery  the  three 
children  exulted,  as  the  birds  and  the  insects  were  ex- 
ulting in  the  open,  thrilled  by  the  vibrating  sense  of 
youth;  at  the  hall  door  Carey's  motor-car  stood,  a 
dark  motionless  object  in  the  scene  that  palpitated 
with  the  suggestion  of  expansion  and  growth ;  in  the 
bare,  clean,  monastic-looking  dining-room,  Daisy  and 
Stephen  were  meeting  again  in  the  lull  that  super- 
sedes the  storm. 

The  scene  was  plain — plain  and  undramatic.  The 
table  was  laid  simply  for  the  morning  meal;  the  full 
light  poured  in  through  the  uncurtained  windows ;  a 
country  bunch  of  buttercups  adorned  the  white  cloth. 

Carey  had  halted  just  inside  the  door;  and  Daisy 
was  standing  by  one  of  the  windows  in  a  blue  cotton 
dress,  her  fair  hair  neatly  brushed,  the  heavy  purple 
shadows  of  sleeplessness  lying  beneath  her  eyes.     She 


THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL  319 

looked  tired  and  pathetic,  but  she  had  regained  her 
self-control.  She  was  no  longer  the  despairing  crea- 
ture who  had  driven  him  forth  from  the  house  two 
nights  ago ;  she  was  a  woman  who  had  bought  calm 
with  pain  and  tears,  and  whose  glance,  as  it  sped 
across  the  room,  spoke  many  things. 

There  was  no  attempt  at  greeting.  In  the  middle 
classes  artifice  has  little  place;  each  knew  that  the 
other  knew,  and  explanations  seemed  superfluous. 

At  last  Carey  came  forward  into  the  light  of  the 
window. 

"Daisy,"  he  said,  "I  have  come  back." 

That  was  all.  No  tragedy,  no  dramatic  eflPect ;  and 
Daisy,  the  eternal  type — the  wife,  the  mother — ac- 
cepted the  words  without  question.  Looking  up,  she 
saw  the  suffering  in  her  husband's  face — the  revolt, 
the  struggle,  the  agonising  triumph.  She  did  not 
understand  it,  for  such  women  are  content  to  class  the 
man  of  their  choice  as  a  being  inevitably  incompre- 
hensible; but  the  maternal  instinct  in  her  gushed 
forth  in  sudden  pity  for  this  being  who  had  returned 
to  her  maimed  and  in  pain. 

"Oh,  Stephen !"  she  said  in  a  shaken  voice. 
"Stephen !"  and  with  a  new,  self-conscious  hesitancy, 

she  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  his. 

*  ¥^  *  *  * 

So  Carey  returned  to  his  home,  unheralded  and  un- 
excused.  The  return  was  in  accord  with  his  life — 
strong,  restrained,  without  colour;  it  seemed  at  once 
an  emblem  and  a  prophecy. 


320  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Immediately  the  breakfast  was  brought  into  the  din- 
ing-room, he  passed  without  interference  to  a  room 
at  the  top  of  the  house  where  it  was  his  habit  to  read 
and  smoke  on  wet  days  during  the  summer.  This 
room  was  comfortless ;  a  deal-table  and  a  couple  of 
kitchen  chairs  were  its  only  furniture,  and  the  white- 
washed walls  were  bare  save  for  a  few  fishing-rods,  a 
gun,  and  a  pipe-rack.  But  its  very  barrenness,  its 
very  coldness,  suited  him  on  this  day  of  shimmering 
glory ;  its  plainness  fitted  with  his  mood ;  its  isolation 
almost  suggested  peace.  Locking  the  door,  he  threw 
himself  into  one  of  the  unyielding  chairs,  and  felt 
mechanically  in  his  pocket  for  his  pipe  and  tobacco- 
pouch — the  silent  comforters  of  man's  black  hours. 

Time  passed  in  the  locked  room ;  the  day  waxed,  and 
with  it  the  sun's  strength ;  nothing  marked  the  flight 
of  the  minutes  except  the  thickening  of  the  smoke 
wreaths,  as  Carey  sat  slowly  smoking,  slowly  refilling 
and  relighting  pipe  after  pipe.  His  mood  during 
that  deadened  space  of  time  was  the  mood  of  a  man 
jaded  physically  and  mentally:  exhaustion  had  fallen 
upon  him — a  deep  lassitude  that  almost  deprived  him 
of  the  power  of  thought — and  one  desire  alone  found 
place  within  his  brain,  the  desire  for  solitude. 

Lunch  time  came,  but  the  summoning  gong  passed 
unnoticed.  Two  o'clock  came,  three  o'clock ;  then  at 
four  the  quiet  was  broken.  A  faint  and  deprecating 
knock  sounded  upon  the  door. 

He  started  like  a  man  caught  in  some  guilty  act. 

"Who's  that?    Who's  there.?" 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  321 

**It's  me,  Stephen — Daisy,"  came  the  answer. 

"Very  well!  I'll  open.  Wait  a  minute!"  Quietly, 
and  without  hesitation,  he  rose  and  walked  across  the 
room:  it  was  the  same  manner  in  which  he  had  ap- 
proached Daisy  earlier  in  the  morning,  and  it  almost 
seemed  that  he  had  mapped  out  a  course  of  action  in. 
her  regard,  and  was  holding  to  it  fixedly. 

He  opened  the  door  and  stood  aside  for  her  to  pass. 

"I*m  frightfully  sorry  to  bother  you,  but  the  un- 
luckiest  thing  has  happened!"  She  walked  into  the 
room,  then  turned  to  look  up  into  his  face  through  the 
cloud  of  tobacco-smoke.  "Mrs.  Power  and  Josephine 
and  two  of  the  boys  are  below.  I  never  expected  such 
a  thing,  but  they  specially  hoped  to  find  you  here, 
as  it's  Saturday,  and  they  haven't  seen  you  since  the 
engagement.     I  said  I'd  try  if  you  were  in;  but  if 

you  like  I  can  go  back  and  say  you're  not "    Her 

glance  lingered  over  his  jaded  face. 

For  a  moment  the  impetuous  annoyance  of  old  days 
surged  up  within  him — ^the  sharp,  contemptuous  re- 
joinder rose  to  his  lips ;  then  with  the  new  control,  he 
checked  both. 

"Would  you  rather  I  went  down?" 

"Oh,  no;  not  if  you  dislike  to.  Mary  and  Father 
James  and  I  can  entertain  them.     'Twas  only  that  I 

was  thinking "     She  paused  and  coloured  and 

looked  away. 

"What.?    That  they'll  talk.?" 

"That,  perhaps,  they  might  talk." 

Carey  nodded  grimly.    "I'll  go  down." 


822  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

«No.     No,  don't." 

■''Yes;  I'll  go.    Where  are  they  now?" 

*'In  the  drawing-room.  You  can  see  them  there  for 
a  minute,  and  then  I'll  take  them  out.  Mary  and 
Josephine  and  the  two  boys  can  play  a  game  of  ten- 
nis— and  Mrs.  Power  and  I  can  look  on." 

Again  the  change  was  visible  in  Daisy — ^the  new 
endurance,  the  new  consciousness  of  responsibility ; 
and  through  the  vapour  of  his  misery,  Carey  saw  and 
was  mutely  thankful. 

"All  right!  Go  down!  I'll  follow  you."  Again 
he  held  the  door  open  for  her;  then  he  turned  back 
for  a  moment  into  the  empty  room,  to  brace  himself 
for  the  ordeal. 

All  his  soul  revolted  from  the  task  awaiting  him — 
all  his  sick  senses  shrank  from  contact  with  the  com- 
mon world — but  he  had  made  his  choice.  Henceforth 
his  way  would  lie  along  the  common  path — ^his  life 
would  be  the  common  life !  All  the  fair  and  splendid 
circumstance  of  dreams  lay  behind  him. 

He  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  pushed  his  chair 
back  into  its  accustomed  place  and  passed  out  of  the 
room. 

On  the  stairs,  the  smell  of  the  washed  boards — the 
scent  of  the  musk  in  the  red  pots  upon  the  window- 
sill — touched  him  to  torturing  memory.  This  morn- 
ing he  had  moved  past  them,  numb  and  unheeding; 
but  now  they  rose  about  him  poignantly,  recalling  the 
brief  moments  of  romance. 

Outside  the  drawing-room  he  paused  to  gather  up 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  323 

his  strength.  He  had  not  seen  this  room  since  the 
night  of  his  adventure,  and  it  lay  within  his  mind  as 
it  had  looked  then — a  place  of  half  lights  and  faded 
perfumes,  pregnant  with  sentiment.  He  paused, 
dazed  by  the  cloud  of  recollection  that  surged  about 
him;  then  he  raised  his  hand,  opened  the  door,  and 
at  once  Mrs.  Power's  voice — slow,  contented, 
motherly — dispelled  illusion. 

The  visitors  were  gathered  about  the  centre  table 
where  the  tea  things  were  laid  out,  flanked  by  a  large 
silver  punch-bowl  and  a  tray  of  glasses.  The  win- 
dows were  all  open ;  the  sun  streamed  into  the  room ; 
a  little  ripple  of  laughter  was  trembling  on  the  air, 
evoked  by  INIrs.  Power's  last  remark. 

As  Carey  entered,  she  turned  to  him,  a  glass  in  one 
hand,  a  silver  ladle  upraised  in  the  other. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,  Stephen!  Come  and  be  the 
arbiter !  Daisy  insists  that  claret-cup  is  a  temperance 
drink,  and  Josephine  says  it  isn't.  For  goodness' 
sake,  agree  with  Daisy,  for  Fm  famished  with  thirst, 
and  the  thought  of  tea  on  a  day  like  this  is  enough  to 
give  any  one  apoplexy." 

Carey  forced  a  laugh  and  came  forward  towards 
the  table.  In  that  first  moment  he  was  conscious  of 
nothing  but  a  deep  thankfulness  for  the  shelter  of 
Mrs.  Power's  volubility. 

"I  think  Father  Mathew  himself  would  exempt  you 
from  tea  with  a  temperature  like  this,"  he  said.  "If 
I  were  you,  I'd  take  the  risk." 

Mrs.  Power  beamed,  and  proceeded  to  fill  her  glass 


324  THE  FLY  ON    THE  WHEEL 

generously  from  the  dark,  cool  liquid  in  the  bowl. 
"Now,  that's  what  I  call  logic,"  she  said  placidly. 
"After  all,  there's  no  profession  like  the  law — it  finds 
such  reasonable  excuses  for  our  little  peccadillos. 
What  do  you  say.  Father  James?" 

Father  James,  who  had  been  standing  modestly  in 
a  corner,  came  out  into  the  light  at  her  challenge. 

"Well,  well,  well !"  he  said.  "Sure,  after  all !  what 
is  wine  but  a  gift  out  of  the  earth !" 

"Very  good,  indeed,  Father  James!  Though  I  see 
Josephine  looking  a  little  bit  shocked.  She's  a  great 
total-abstainer,  you  know,  since  she  attended  the  last 
mission !" 

Father  James  smiled  across  at  Josephine  Power,  a 
pale-faced,  large-boned  girl,  who  was  looking  with 
prim  disapproval  at  her  easy-going  mother. 

"Ah,  Josephine,  that's  the  way  of  youth  1"  he  said. 
"All  for  total-abstinence  or  total-acceptance!  'Tis 
only  age  brings  the  happy  medium — moderation. 
Daisy,  may  I  have  a  sup  of  that  claret-cup  myself .'"' 

"Indeed  you  may !  Mrs.  Power,  will  you  give  it  to 
him?  We  were  just  going  out  to  the  tennis-court, 
Stephen.    The  girls  are  going  to  play." 

She  spoke  without  looking  at  Carey,  and  he  an- 
swered with  averted  eyes. 

"That's  right !  It's  too  fine  to  stay  in.  Mrs.  Power, 
I'll  give  Father  James  his  drink  while  you  finish 
yours." 

Mrs.  Power  willingly  resigned  the  ladle,  and  fell  to 
sipping  the  contents  of  her  glass. 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  325 

"And  what  about  yourself,  Stephen?"  she  said. 
"We  ought  to  drink  to  the  engagement,  you  know. 
Where's  Mary?" 

"Mary  is  gone  out  with  Jim  and  Eddy,  to  get  the 
tennis  rackets,"  said  Daisy.  "They're  waiting  on  the 
court  for  us." 

"Ah,  well,  another  time!  And  now,  Stephen,  come 
and  talk  to  me.  I  haven't  thought  or  spoken  of  an- 
other thing  since  Owen  told  me  the  great  news.  'Tis 
the  wish  of  my  heart  fulfilled."  She  moved  towards 
the  mantelpiece,  still  smiling,  still  sipping  her  claret- 
cup. 

Carey  half  filled  a  tumbler  for  himself,  and  followed 
her  across  the  room. 

"I  agree  with  you,"  he  murmured.  "It's  very  satis- 
factory— very  satisfactory  for  all  concerned !" 

Strive  as  he  might  to  fix  his  attention,  the  common- 
ness of  the  scene,  its  triviality,  its  futility,  warred  in- 
tolerably with  his  unhappy  thoughts.  These  people 
with  their  petty  interests,  their  familiar,  unemotional 
voices,  were  things  irreconcilable  with  his  mood, — 
files  that  grated  upon  his  jarred  nerves. 

"Ah,  'tis  a  great  thing !  'Tis  a  great  thing !"  Mrs. 
Power  went  on.  *' After  all,  'tis  the  right  end  for 
every  young  fellow — ^to  marry  a  nice  girl  and  settle 
down !  Look  what  it  did  for  you,  Stephen !  Not,  in- 
deed, that  you  were  ever  anything  but  steady!  But 
still,  a  young  man  improves  so  much  with  a  nice  wife ; 
it  seems  to  form  his  character." 

Stephen    murmured    something    acquiescent;     and 


326  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Father  James  opportunely  stepped  up  to  the  fire- 
place. 

"And  how  is  your  own  good  man,  Mrs.  Power.?"  he 
said.     *'I  saw  him  up  in  town  yesterday." 

Mrs.  Power  turned,  full  of  new  interest.  "He's 
flourishing,  indeed.  Father  James !  Like  myself,  he's 
full  of  delight  over  this  news  about  Owen.  But  all 
Kilmeaden  seems  to  have  been  up  in  town  yesterday ! 
Tom  and  Mary  lunched  with  us ;  and  now  Daisy  tells 
me  that  Isabel  was  up  too." 

"She  was  indeed.  'Twas  the  way  her  aunt  sent  for 
her,"  said  Father  James,  telling  the  white  lie  nobly. 
"She  had  one  of  her  bad  headaches,  it  seems,  and  got 
a  little  bit  nervous  about  herself.  Indeed,  I  pitied  the 
poor  child,  ragged  up  to  New  Town  on  such  a  kill- 
ing day !" 

Mrs.  Power  looked  interested.  "Good  gracious ! 
You  surprise  me !"  she  said.  "I  was  behind  Miss  Cos- 
tello  at  the  ten  o'clock  mass,  and  I  thought  I  never 
saw  her  looking  better." 

"Ah,  well,  old  people  take  notions!" 

Mrs.  Power  shook  her  head  sympathetically.  "They 
do.  They  do,  indeed!  And  all  the  Costellos  are 
a  bit  cranky.  I  suppose  Isabel  will  be  back 
to-day.?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  Stephen ;  but  Stephen 
had  turned  his  back,  and  was  lost  in  a  study  of  the 
old  gilt  clock  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"No  doubt !  No  doubt  she  will !"  said  Father  James. 
'*But  Daisy  is  waiting  for  you,  Mrs.  Power." 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  327 

Mrs.  Power  turned  round.     "Oh,  Daisy,  are  you 


going 


?" 


"Yes;  Josephine  and  I  are  ready.  Won't  you 
come .?" 

"I  will,  dear;  I  will.  Only  give  me  time  to  drink 
this.     You  go  on,  and  I'll  be  after  you !" 

"Very  well !  But  don't  forget  I'll  be  by  myself  when 
the  game  begins !" 

"No,  dear.     I  won't." 

Daisy  and  Josephine  Power  passed  out  through  the 
glass  door  and  down  the  long  green  garden,  their 
cotton  dresses  making  patches  of  colour  in  the  full 
sunlight.  Mrs.  Power  sipped  her  drink  again,  then 
turned  to  Stephen  with  a  new  air  of  confidence. 
"Now,  Stephen,  there's  something  I  want  to  have  a 
little  word  with  you  about.  Of  course,  we're  all  anx- 
ious that  this  engagement  shouldn't  be  a  long  one — 
I  don't  approve  of  long  engagements ;  and  there's 
nothing  for  Owen  and  Mary  to  wait  for.  So  Mr. 
Power  is  determined  to  make  things  easy  for  them; 
and  I  think  that  you,  as  our  solicitor " 

Father  James  was  moving  discreetly  away,  but  she 
checked  him  with  a  smile  and  a  wave  of  the  hand. 

"Don't  go.  Father  James!  Sure,  what  is  there  in 
any  of  our  families  that  you  don't  know !  'Twas  only 
that  I  thought,  having  Stephen  here  now,  we  might 
as  well  talk  the  matter  over  in  a  friendly  way,  in- 
stead of  going  down  formally  to  the  office." 

Carey  looked  round  sharply,  seeming  not  to  have 
heard  Mrs.  Power's  words. 


828  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"What  was  that?"  he  said.  "Wasn't  that  the  hall- 
door  bell?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  didn't  hear  anything.  As  I  was 
saying  to  Father  James,  Stephen ^" 

Carey  laid  his  glass  upon  the  mantelshelf.  A  ner- 
vous look  of  prescience — a  peculiar  uneasiness — ^was 
visible  on  his  face. 

"One  moment,  Mrs.  Power,"  he  said.  "I  think 
there's  somebody  outside." 

Mrs.  Power  looked  slightly  offended,  and  Father 
James  glanced  sharply  at  Carey. 

"Will  I  go  and  see,  Stephen?  Maybe  'tis  some  visi- 
tor for  Daisy,  and  I  could  take  them  out  to  the  ten- 
nis-ground." 

"Yes,"  said  Carey  quickly.  "Yes,  do.  Ah,  there's 
Julia  going  down  the  hall!" 

All  three  stood  listening;  then  suddenly  Carey  took 
a  step  forward,  as  though  he  had  heard  some  sound  to 
which  the  others  were  deaf. 

"Father  James !"  he  said  involuntarily ;  then  his 
voice  died  away.  The  door  was  opened  by  Julia,  and 
without  announcement  Isabel  walked  into  the 
room. 

The  eyes  of  the  three  turned  upon  her  simultane- 
ously, seeing  her  variously,  according  to  their  lights. 
Mrs.  Power,  from  the  dazzling  pinnacle  of  her  ma- 
ternal happiness,  saw  nothing  but  a  figure  in  a  limp 
white  dress,  a  face  overshadowed  by  untidy  hair  and 
a  carelessly  arranged  hat ;  Father  James,  in  his  all- 
pervading  pity,  saw  a  human  soul  looking  out  upon 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  S29 

the  world  in  revolt  and  misery ;  Carey  saw  nothing  but 
the  fire  in  the  dark  eyes. 

Of  the  three,  Mrs.  Power  was  the  first  to  offer  greet- 
ing. 

"Good  gracious,  it's  Isabel!"  she  cried.  "Isabel, 
dear,  how  are  you !  I  hope  your  aunt  isn't  bad ;  you 
look  as  if  you  had  been  up  all  night." 

Father  James  stepped  forward  and  took  Isabel's 
hand.  "Isabel,"  he  said,  "we  were  just  this  minute 
talking  about  you.  I  was  telling  Mrs.  Power  how 
your  aunt  sent  for  you  yesterday,  because  she 
had  one  of  her  headaches."  He  made  the  expla- 
nation insistently,  pressing  her  hand  to  force 
it  home. 

But  Isabel  only  stared  at  him.  It  was  obvious  that 
her  own  thoughts,  her  own  emotions,  filled  her  mind 
to  the  exclusion  of  all  else.  Convention  she  had 
thrown  aside;  expediency  she  had  discarded  as  a 
worn-out  garment.  She  drew  her  hand  from  Father 
James's,  and  stood  looking  from  him  to  Mrs.  Power, 
as  if  flaunting  her  unexpected  presence,  flaunting  her 
dishevelled  appearance. 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Power  stared;  then  she  made  a  motherly  ges- 
ture of  concern.  "My  dear,  what  is  it.?  You  look 
tired  out.     Was  the  drive  too  much  for  you?" 

Isabel  drew  back  to  avoid  the  proff'ered  caress.  "I 
didn't  drive.     I  walked." 

"You  walked?  You  walked  from  Waterford?  Why, 
you  must  have  been  mad !" 


330  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

The  girl  made  a  curious  little  sound  that  might  have 
been  a  laugh. 

Carey  turned  towards  her,  "Good  God!  You 
walked  ?" 

"Yes,  I  walked.  How  else  was  I  to  get  here?  I'm 
too  poor  to  drive." 

He  turned  from  the  scorn  of  her  glance. 

"Mrs.  Power,"  he  said  indistinctly,  "will  you  come 
out  to  the  tennis-court.  I'll  be  back  again,  Father 
James !" 

Mrs.  Power  took  another  sharp  look  at  Isabel;  then 
she  followed  Carey  across  the  room.  As  they  passed 
together  through  the  glass  door  she  laid  her  hand  on 
his  arm. 

*'Did  you  ever  see  anybody  look  so  queer  as  Isabel, 
Stephen?"  she  said.  "It's  my  belief  that  she  got  a 
touch  of  the  sun,  coming  out.  If  I  were  Daisy  I'd 
put  her  to  bed  and  send  for  the  doctor.  She's  cer- 
tainly not  herself." 

And  Carey,  from  the  ferment  within  his  mind,  made 
some  inarticulate  reply. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

Alone  in  the  drawing-room,  Isabel  and  Father  James 
stood  looking  at  each  other.  Now,  as  at  the  moment 
of  her  entry,  the  old  priest  saw  nothing  of  her  dis- 
ordered clothes,  nothing  of  her  unkempt  hair  and 
dusty  shoes ;  all  he  saw,  all  he  yearned  over,  was  the 
dumb  misery  that  had  stamped  itself  on  her  face,  blot- 
ting out  its  beauty,  its  youth,  its  colour,  as  a  cruel 
heel  might  crush  the  life  from  a  flower. 

"Child !  child !"  he  said  suddenly.  "What's  come  to 
you?     Wliat's  come  to  you,  at  all,'"* 

Isabel  stared  defiance.  "What  you  wanted  to  come 
to  me — you  and  the  rest !" 

The  flame  within  her  whipped  the  words  forth,  as 
it  had  kindled  the  light  in  her  eyes. 

He  came  a  step  nearer  to  her,  but  she  wheeled  away 
from  him,  unconsciously  taking  up  the  position  by 
the  mantelpiece  that  Carey  had  vacated. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  added.  "It's  all  just  as  it  ought  to 
be !  Daisy  and  Mary  playing  tennis ;  you  preaching ; 
he  comfortably  eating  and  drinking!"  She  paused 
to  catch  up  the  half-filled  tumbler.  "This  is  his, 
isn't  it.?" 

"Isabel,  child!" 

"This  is  his,  isn't  it.?  Wasn't  he  calmly  drinking 
this,  while  I  was  trudging  through  the  heat  and  the 
dust?     Wasn't  he?     Wasn't  he.?" 


332  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

"And  if  he  was  itself,  child,  sure  mustn't  we  all  eat 
and  drink,  whatever  happens?  Isn't  that  the  tragedy 
of  life?" 

*'The  tragedy!"  She  laughed  and  looked  again  at 
the  glass,  as  if  attracted  by  the  cool  red  liquid.  "I 
haven't  wanted  to  eat  or  drink  since  yesterday." 

Concern  and  compassion  overspread  Father  James's 
face. 

"Glory  be  to  God!    You  don't  mean  that?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  have  had  other  things  to  think  about. 
I  suppose  women  are  different  from  men."  She  still 
held  the  glass,  moving  it  about  as  the  sunlight  played 
upon  the  wine. 

"But  that's  a  terrible  thing!  You  can't  go  on  like 
that.  See  here  now."  Again  he  ventured  to  move 
nearer  to  her. 

With  a  quick,  fierce  gesture  she  laid  down  Carey's 
glass  and  turned  upon  him.  "And  why  can't  I  go  on 
like  that?"  she  demanded.  "I  care  nothing  more 
about  what  any  of  you  say — or  any  of  you  think. 
Why  can't  I  go  on  as  I  like  ?" 

Something  in  her  face,  something  in  her  voice, 
alarmed  him  by  its  intensity.  For  a  moment  he  wa- 
vered before  it ;  then  he  collected  his  quiet  strength — 
his  inexhaustible  gentleness. 

"Look  here,  Isabel,"  he  said,  "I'm  going  to  pour 
out  a  glass  of  that  wine,  and  you're  going  to  swallow 
it  to  please  me." 

Refusal — sharp  and  violent — sprang  to  her  lips; 
then  some  suggestion,  some  thought,  arrested  it  in 


THE   FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  333 

the  utterance ;  her  expression  changed  curiously,  and 
she  answered  unexpectedly. 

"Very  well !    Get  it  for  me." 

Immense  relief  touched  Father  James,  and  he  hur- 
ried across  the  room  to  the  tea-table. 

Isabel  stood  very  still.  Only  her  eyes  and  her  right 
hand  showed  any  sign  of  life — her  eyes  following  the 
old  priest's  movements  with  a  passion  of  intentness, 
her  right  hand  stealing  silently,  stealthily,  towards 
the  pocket  of  her  dress.  There  was  a  moment  of  sus- 
pense ;  then,  as  he  bent  over  the  punch-bowl,  care- 
fully measuring  out  the  wine,  her  fingers  found  the 
pocket,  shot  into  the  light  again,  and,  with  a  swift 
noiseless  action,  dropped  two  small  white  objects  into 
Carey's  glass. 

It  was  an  absolutely  simple  act — dexterous,  con- 
trolled, silent;  and  as  Father  James  walked  slowly 
back  across  the  room,  carrying  the  wine,  there  was 
nothing  to  tell  of  a  deed  accomplished. 

"Now,  child,  to  please  me !  To  please  an  old  man !" 
He  held  out  the  glass. 

Isabel  looked  at  him ;  then,  with  a  gesture  of  final- 
ity, put  her  hands  behind  her  back. 

"No,  Father  James.  No."  Her  tone  was  no  longer 
stormy,  but  it  was  vibrating  and  tense. 

Father  James's  eyes  narrowed  in  closer  scrutiny. 
"What  is  it,  Isabel.?"  he  said.    "What's  come  to  you?" 

"Nothing.     I'm — nearly  happy." 

"Happy?     How  happy?" 

"Because  I  hate  him  so  absolutely  much.'* 


334  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

Again  the  chill  of  fear  passed  over  the  old  priest. 

"Isabel,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "drink  the  wine !  There's 
a  good  child,  now !    Drink  the  wine !" 

*'I'll  never  drink  wine  again — never  as  long  as  I 
live,  after  to-day." 

Alarm  sprang  into  his  eyes.  "Child,  what's  the  mat- 
ter with  you?    Why  are  you  so  still  and  quiet-like?" 

"I  told  you." 

"But  I  don't  like  it !  I  don't  like  it !"  In  his  blind 
sense  of  misgiving  he  put  out  his  hand  and  touched 
her  arm.  "Isabel,  child,  I  don't  like  you  like  this! 
I'd  rather  you  raving,  as  you  were  while  ago ;  it's 
more  natural.     Look  now!     Rouse  yourself!" 

Isabel  shook  off  his  hand. 

"And  what  does  it  matter  how  I  am?  Who  in  all 
the  world  cares?" 

He  was  silent  for  a  space;  then,  looking  at  her,  he 
said  steadily,  "One  person  cares." 

"Who?" 

"Stephen." 

"Stephen!"     She  made  a  wild,  contemptuous  sound. 

"Don't  laugh,"  he  said  sternly.  "Oh,  how  cursed 
we  are,  that  not  one  of  us  can  see  outside  his  own  little 
life — ^that  God  doesn't  open  our  eyes  to  one  another's 
sorrows.  Child!  child!  can't  you  see  that  Stephen  is 
broken  over  this  business  ?  Can't  you  see  anything  at 
all  but  the  blackness  in  your  own  heart?" 

Isabel's  wild  eyes  turned  upon  him.  "How  am  I 
to  see  it?    Where  am  I  to  see  it?" 

"In  his  face.    Look  at  his  face.     He's  coming  back 


THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL  835 

now;  I  hear  him  in  the  garden.  Look  at  him  when 
he  comes  in.    Look  at  his  face." 

Carey's  step  sounded  on  the  garden  path,  and  Isabel 
turned  as  he  stepped  through  the  glass  door. 

He  came  in  quietly,  his  figure  silhouetted  against 
the  brilliant  afternoon  light,  and  it  seemed  in  a  curi- 
ous way  that  the  long  shadow  his  figure  cast  em- 
anated from  something  within  him — something  dark 
and  tragic — rather  than  by  the  mere  effect  of  sun- 
light. There  was  tangible  suffering,  tangible  strug- 
gle, marked  upon  him ;  and  its  very  silence,  its  very 
strength,  made  it  the  more  defined.  A  long,  faint 
shudder  passed  through  Isabel  as  she  stood  watching 
him  with  her  brooding  eyes. 

He  came  into  the  room ;  he  looked  about  him,  as  if 
dazed  by  the  alteration  of  lights;  then  he  walked 
aimlessly  forward  to  the  mantelpiece. 

Isabel's  eyes  followed  him. 

The  silence  was  tense;  conscious  of  her  searching 
gaze,  tortured  by  it  and  by  the  ordeal  to  be  re-lived, 
he  looked  desperately  round  for  some  rational,  calm- 
ing influence.  By  a  common  chance,  his  eye  fell  upon 
his  untasted  wine  standing  on  the  mantelshelf. 

He  felt  no  thirst ;  the  parched  dryness  of  his  throat, 
the  burning  heat  of  his  brain,  would  have  demanded 
more  than  a  cup  of  iced  wine;  but  it  was  a  natural, 
rational  act  to  pick  up  the  glass,  and  he  turned  like 
a  man  unnerved  to  any  rational  idea.  Slowly,  auto- 
matically, he  put  out  his  hand. 

Then  suddenly  a  little  cry,  very  low,  very  faint 


336  THE  FLY  ON   THE  WHEEL 

broke  from  Isabel.  She  put  out  her  hand  and  ar- 
rested his. 

"Wait!"  she  said.     "Wait!" 

For  an  instant  her  fingers  lingered  upon  his;  then 
she  drew  the  tumbler  away  from  him,  lifted  it  slowly, 
and  drank. 

The  glass  rattled  against  her  teeth ;  the  touch  of  the 
ice  chilled  her  lips ;  but,  looking  down  into  the  wine, 
her  eyes  caught  the  warmth,  the  redness,  the  glory 
of  the  sun. 


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